My own recollection of first meeting Pat Buckley was pure Boswell-Johnson. It was at a drinks-and-chat session in the Buckleys’ drawing-room prior to my first editorial dinner. I passed a remark about the Mississippi River, to the effect that on first seeing it, down in the lower reaches by Natchez, I’d been disappointed to find it nothing like as wide as I’d thought. Mrs. B. slapped me down briskly. “Nothing wrong with the Mississippi. It’s a beautiful river.” I sank into the sofa cushions & spent the rest of the session trying not to be seen. By the time dinner was served, though, I could see that Pat was repenting her sharpness. When at last I summoned the courage to speak up on something else, she expressed friendly agreement. For ever after that, she was unfailingly kind and hospitable to me. A great lady, a great loss.