Leaving Berlin in 1953, I thought I was leaving for good, but in fall, 1954, I was back. This time I arrived with my very pregnant English wife, in a used and abused ex-British army van, bought with the advance for my first book. On my way back to America, as to an execution, I had paused in London again to meet the talented and beautiful woman whom I had interviewed two years before when travelling for the Salzburg Seminar. Stricken to pith and marrow, I renounced the return to my native land to try to exist by freelance writing and lecturing in London. An absentee divorce was arranged, and without sane prospects but optimistic as Candide, I proposed marriage and was accepted, to my immediate and continuing joy. While pleased to have a contract for my book, I was still piercingly aware that instead of resolving my financial troubles, I had compounded them.