Now when the Foretopman found himself closeted there, as it were, in the cabin with the Captain and Claggart, he was surprised enough.

The sickening indoorness of the whole thing. That's what it was. That is what kills me, he told her. It kills every one of us. The damn indoorness of our lives. “The indoor man in his head is dead. So there,” he announced.

I stood on the bridge at midnight.

Robert Maheu, tough, astute, dynamic, was the perfect professional to implement the CIA scheme to tweep Fidel Castro.