6 The Life Worth Living 



hall, parlour and library. The next story had 

 two bedrooms and a bathroom, and the top 

 floor had two "large" rooms and two small 

 ones inside. The wood was hard, the man- 

 tels and chandeliers pretty, the fireplaces 

 poetic looking, with iron logs to imitate 

 wood, and it cost us twenty-five thousand 

 dollars. 



The taxes, insurance and repairs still held 

 a fixed charge on the place of about $350 

 annually. A house in New York is the 

 easiest thing a tax-gatherer has to manage. 

 Only one man in ten ever dares to own one. 

 The others keep moving. 



Within six months this dream had faded. 



Our home was just a nineteen-foot slit in a 

 block of scorched mud with a brownstone 

 veneer in front. Our children were penned 

 in its narrow prison walls through the long 

 winters, and forbidden to walk on the grass 

 in the cold, dreary spring. The doctor came 

 to see us every week. 



