I recognized the tall, enviably thin and handsome Calvino from his photographs. I was browsing happily when my friend Gian Carlo Roscioni, then an editor for Einaudi, the publishing house, came over to me and said: "Calvino is here and would like to meet you." Our meeting was unplanned but, appropriately, it took place in a bookshop, the high-ceilinged yet somehow intimate Libreria Einaudi (now gone), which then stood at the curve in the Via Veneto where the cafes of Dolce Vita memory give way to more sober government buildings and undistinguished middle-range hotels. I first met ltalo Calvino in Rome, sometime in the early 1960s.
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