My interpreter does it, he calls himself MY VALET, although I point out to him that two shirts and twelve collars do not constitute a wardrobe even with a rubber coat thrown in.

But he likes to play at my being a distinguished stranger and I can't say I object.

Only when you remember the way I was invited to see Cuba and expected to see it, and now the way I am seeing it from car windows with A VALET.

What would the new school of yellow kid journalists say if they knew that.

For the first time on this trip I have wished you were both with me, that was to night.