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Only months later did I find out what that was all about.  Our landlord's girlfriend had been certain that the landlord was having a threesome with Abby and me.  She had hired a friend to catch us in the act in the apartment, and to leave the threatening note.  Nothing ever came of this, and nothing further ever developed.

We went broke in Palma, and were reduced to cadging food from a smorgasbord place.  We'd pay for our dinner, but load our pockets with Swedish meatballs and cold cuts.

I loved Palma, a noble old city, much of it still enclosed within the old walls.  There was a cathedral, the oldest purely gothic building in Europe, I was told.

The cathedral's grounds had benches, and I often worked there, in longhand.  There were interesting restaurants and tapas bars everywhere, and fancy shopping for those who could afford it.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, we returned to Ibiza.

We were also frequently in Paris, since several friends let us use their apartments.  I had some good friends in Paris, and it was always a pleasure to be in what had to be the world's most beautiful city.

The next year, in Ibiza, I began to suffer intermittent pains in my throat.  We went to a doctor in Mallorca to check this out, and I was told that I was having a slow-motion heart attack and it needed to be taken care of immediately.  Through the good offices of a Spanish friend, we flew to Madrid and checked into a central hospital.  My heart doctor was one of Spain's leading specialists.  He wisely counseled no immediate action:  we were to wait it out and see how it progressed.  The situation abated, and we returned to Ibiza and the lifestyle that had undoubtedly brought it on.  Before we left, the doctor told me that if I had presented my condition in the States, I would undoubtedly have been subjected to a multiple bypass operation.  I was slow in recovering full strength, but in six months I felt as good as I ever had.

My next heart attack came some years later.  Abby and I had left Ibiza and moved to London.  We flew to the Greek island of Corfu to try to put our lives back together.  We argued all the way, loudly, and vehemently, and in Cofu we continued arguing.  Suddenly I had a severe chest pain.  It was a warning I had more or less been waiting for.
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Robert Sheckley's Autobiography

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