Rebecca West, by Victoria Glendinning (Knopf, 320 pp., $19.95)
In August 1977 Dame Rebecca West invited me to tea in her magnificent flat at Prince’s Gate, overlooking Kensington Gardens in London. A doddering Irish maid announced my arrival—which was greeted by a loud “Oh, damn!” Dame Rebecca had forgotten our appointment. Ten minutes later she appeared in an ankle-length Moroccan caftan. She was then 85 and heavily built; she walked with difficulty, and wore thick spectacles. But her mind was as sharp as ever.





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