[…] yond same star that’s westward from the pole

It’s 3pm at Rizes, a farm in the heart of Mykonos, and there is not a champagne bottle in sight, a sunbed to lounge on, or a scintilla of music that might drown the sound of the winds breezing through the nearby bamboo.

[…] this boy, though at present a juggins, had the makings of a superb creature.

Call me Daffy, Daffodil interrupted with a demure smile.