Between The Two Poles Of Whole-truth And

Ballet's Image Of Perfection Is Fashioned Amid A Milieu Of Wracked Bodies, Fevered Imaginations, Balkan Intrigue And Sulfurous Hatreds Where Anything Is Likely, And Dancers Know It.

Rumor And Gossip, Like Sound Itself, Appear To Travel By Wave-effect, Sheer Preposterosity Being No Barrier.

Rome's Riches Are In Too Immediate Juxtaposition. Under The Lid Of Awful August Heat, One Moves Dizzily From Church To Palace To Fountain To Ruin, A Single Fly At A Banquet, Not Knowing Where To Light.

At Gatling-gun Tempo Word-perfect The First Time Out. The Journalistic Equivalent Of A High-wire Front Somersault Without A Net.

Hair Brings One’s Self-image Into Focus; It Is Vanity’s Proving Ground. Hair Is Terribly Personal, A Tangle Of Mysterious Prejudices