I’ve just come from the bull-fight, a very good one, so tense at one point that I had to wash down a pinkie with a great gulp of Scotch in my little flask, am now half in and half out of the conscious world. It is pretty good here. All the little black dwarfettes are still scuttling about, and a few hunch-backs, and the gigolo with the great melting eyes and tiny mustache is paying flattering court, all but drinking champagne from my slipper.