One summer it was particularly sticky and the edges of life were blurred with haze and Bacardi.  She found this dwarf she called "Langley" and took him everywhere.  He was dark,  favored blue robes, and his  pupils were black as coal  She insisted he was a great artist and a Moroccan, though the story always seemed a bit contrived.  They would spend hours in the corner whispering to each other and drinking Anisette.  One day he disappeared.  When we asked her about it all we could get her to say was, "Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life."