THE funny thing is neither of us had ever seen a Yank before much less danced with one. Here he was, a little dark man on crutches standing in the corner of the pub chewing a chocolate ice cream where what we expected was a tall dreamy cowboy with pistols and high boots. The very first Yank for two runaround girls of 18, and he turns out looking underfed, underpaid and under-you-know-what, not the other way around like everyone was saying. But what was so extraordinary was he was chewing on the ice cream, not licking it like anyone else would have done.

"I'm going to dance with him," Angel said just like that.

"You can't!" I said for no particular reason except my being there to watch out for her. That and because seeing all those brown uniforms for the first time sent shivers all down my spine and I couldn't think very clear.