We didn’t know that about him then
when we started reading his books.
But once we found out, they were always
there – in the trenches of his war stories;
in the grandstands at his racetracks and
boxing matches; present at his bull fights
or padding softly through the dirty Parisian
streets; there were always the lions. Solemn
slow-moving beasts whose large paws made
no noise, and whose whiskey-coloured eyes
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