ABSTRACT
During our last night in fairyland, I still imagined that a glamorous life was awaiting me—as a translator to a diplomat or a mogul, and in a pinch as a designer of evening gowns and Chanel-type suits. Eventu-ally, I would become a famous painter and would write a book about my recent adventures. I hadn’t yet read Down and Out in London and Paris, but my juvenile fantasies went along these lines.
