“Once, when we went in a taxi to some Board meeting, I paid the taxi driver and [poet W.B.] Yeats grabbed the money frantically from his hand and created a scene while he tried to find money of his own — always a difficult task for him as he could never make out where his pockets were. I said, 'Oh, stop it, WB,' and he turned on me. 'You don't understand, O'Connor, ' he gasped. `I wouldn't mind, but my wife would never forgive me.’ Maybe only a story-teller can understand this, but I knew that a man who worried about what he was going to tell his wife about who paid the taxi fare was a man in love, whatever anybody else might think.”—Frank O’Connor, A Frank O’Connor Reader, edited by Michael Steinman (1994)
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