The Right Mr. White

A black sedan from the Soviet Embassy stopped one day last week before a modest bungalow on Washington's 21st Street Northeast. A chauffeur delivered a package, with these instructions to the housewife who opened the door: "Handle carefully. For the Honorable Harry D. White."

That night, Harry D. White, a carpenter by trade, opened the package, found inside four bottles of liquor, five boxes of Russian cigarets, and a crested, engraved card. It read: "The Government Purchasing Commission of the Soviet Union in the U.S.A. extends season's greetings. . . ."

"Again," said Harry to his wife.

The Whites had received strange...

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