Word: marcos
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...should have listened to him. Under the surface of Southampton talk about Al Smith, the Ku Klux Klan, prohibition, life was more like the life of Tsarist Russia than any debutante could understand. In Paul's absence, Anne fell in love with Marco Ghiberti, a mysterious Italian visitor (Southampton had just recovered from the visits of Lindbergh and the Prince of Wales) who was rumored to be nobility. It was a joke. Marco was a Harvard law student whose father had run a restaurant in Italy. Nothing spoiled the joke except that Anne had promised to marry Marco...
When the story got around, the girls passing Anne and Marco hummed I Can't Give You Anything but Love, Baby. Scraps of conversation from adjoining tables reached them: "I haven't laughed so much since that Russian prince turned out to be a soda clerk. . . ." Anne broke down, sent Marco away, married Paul...
Less well done, Lisa's story complicates the book, blurs its outlines, is tiresome reading compared with the vivid scenes of life & death on the Southampton beachhead. Readers are likely to forget the long talks about politics. They will remember Anne's shock at seeing Marco at her best friend's wedding, the families crowding together in poverty after the suicides and heart failures of the crash. When rich Uncle Bruce Craven went broke, and was charged with having stolen $6,500,000, Marco was the lawyer on the other side. When Uncle Bruce asked his friends...
...trip to Kashgar and back along the edge of the Taklamakan Desert was one of the great experiences of our lives. We followed a route as old as history itself: Marco Polo passed over it, Tamerlane sacked it, the Chinese built watchtowers to guard it. The ruins are still there, and even the caravans are the same. We photographed everything- sipped tea and ate melons with all the little officials who came out to meet us -got our story by putting together a hundred fragments that told us what their lives had been...
Another Admiral. Eastward above the sun-scorched plain of India flew the big transport Marco Polo. At New Delhi the plane circled down, taxied to a hangar's shade. The rear underhatch opened, a ladder thrust down. Out climbed an immaculately groomed Briton in the semitropical khaki of a Royal Navy Admiral. A welcoming line of high-ranking Allied officers, flecked with gold braid and turbans, snapped to salute. Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten, cousin of the King-Emperor, ex-chief of the Commandos and now Allied Commander in Southeast Asia, briskly returned the salute. Down the line of officers...