A book reviewer since 1967, including a five-year stint as editor of the Sunday Times Book Review, Leonard also write a warmly personal, frequently humorous column in the Wednesday Times titled "Private Lives." A collection of 69 of the columns appeared in book form last year under the title Private Lives in the Imperial City (Knopf, .95). In addition, he has published four novels and hundreds of free-lance articles for magazines ranging from Playboy to the New Republic. For years he wrote TV reviews for Life magazine under the pseudonym "Cyclops." Recalls Leonard: "It was a good way to turn your brain to Spam."
"The White House, March 18, 1861.
M looked at him quizzically. "Fine stone?"
"Pretty daft business, isn't it? I don't think Castro can hold out much longer. The missile business in Cuba must have cost Russia about a billion pounds. And now they're having to pour money into Cuba, money and goods, to keep the place on its feet. I can't help thinking they'll pull out soon and leave Castro to go the way Batista went. It's a fiercely Catholic country, and Hurricane Flora was considered as the final judgment from heaven. It sat over the island and simply whipped it, day after day, for five days. No hurricane in history has ever behaved like that. The churchgoers don't miss an omen like that. It was a straight indictment of the regime."
I worked with actors, comedians and drama teachersin America and storytellers in Africa to adaptimprovisational drills into exercises that enhance conversationalskills.
Bond heard a door being pulled sideways on iron rollers. The driver put in the clutch and they rolled slowly forward a few yards and stopped. The man switched off the engine. There was a clang as the iron hatch was opened from the outside. A gush of fresh air and a flood of brighter light came into the cabin. Hands took hold of Bond and dragged him roughly out backwards on to a cement floor. Bond stood up. He felt the prod of a gun in his side. A voice said, "Stay where you are. No tricks." Bond looked at the man. He was another Chinese Negro, from the same stable as the others. The yellow eyes examined him curiously.' Bond turned away indifferently. Another man was prodding the girl with his gun. Bond said sharply, "Leave the girl alone." He walked over and stood beside her. The two men seemed surprised. They stood, pointing their guns indecisively.
'That's true, indeed,' said I, moving my chair to the table. 'So you have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!' interested to know all about it. 'Have you been there long?'
He drew his shirt collar back and stole a look out through the grating at the guards. Those he could see were looking straight at the launching-dome, somewhere to his left.
鈥業t was indeed romantic to travel along that wild path by starlight.... Do you remember the well-known engraving of Una with her lion entering a witch鈥檚 cave? Now, as I jogged along in my duli, while Margaret rode on her white pony, she made me think of that picture of Una. She is so fair, so graceful, so pure-looking, with her chiselled profile and her sweet expression; I could not make out, however, anything that would do for the lion.