‘In 1943 Chareau would have been sixty and I twenty-eight. I met him at a small dinner party given by Jane Bowles, the novelist, whom I had known in Mexico. I remember that she served roast duck in the American style, very crisp and well-done, but did not know how to carve the whole ducks and demanded that a guest do the carving. No one responded, to a point where it became embarrassing – I do not remember why I did not respond – and at that moment Chareau, who was a small man, volunteered, and with a comic routine (as though he were Charlie Chaplin), made a hilarious parody out of carving the roasted birds. I think that moment was when my admiration for him began, because I realized not only did he not speak English and was in exile in a strange land, but that he was basically a shy and introverted soul, whose deep sense of civilization forced him to arise to the occasion'.