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Not until Carr comes up scratch with those fifty francs. Where's he gone, anyway? Since the Inspector confiscated all Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde's possessions - including those suits and accessories - as evidence, he's been doing nothing but write feverish telegrams to his tailors back in Zurich. Wants to be presentable for any soirees at the Winter Palace, he says. Better he should be thinking about my own friends in St. Petersburg who'll be sure to help me get some justice - Emma Goldman, for one. She has no patience with that sort of bourgeois sartorial frippery, worked in a clothing sweatshop herself.
She knows the worth of an artist, though, who keeps himself aloof from all social and political considerations. You'll see, Tzara - when I show round my draft for ULYSSES in St. Petersburg, it's is going to create a revolution, mark my words.
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