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For years I wanted to make this drawing—and for days after I reached Taormina I had to wait before I could make it: for a curtain of mist hung over the sea and land. Then suddenly in all its glory the great white, snowy cone, borne on clouds, came forth above the sea and shore. And Hiroshige and Claude and Turner never imagined or dreamt of anything so glorious—and I had it all to myself, for it was tea-time.” (p. 1)