There was a sort of traveling show, very small, in town. I was in it. The officials didn't want us to be there, so were making arbitrary laws to get us out, and confiscated all our belongings. There was nothing we could do about it. They had us stay in the upstairs of this house, which was rather nice, though old-fashioned. I looked down and saw the mayor's wife going through my suitcase and counting all the children's clothes as she took them out. She was going to give them to the Salvation Army. I ran down and started fighting with her. I was very mad. One part I remember clearly was biting her fingers -- they were very waxy and I bit way into them, but it didn't seem to bother her at all, although I was revolted and thought she must have some horrible disease. How this turned out -- some woman whom I had thought before all of this that I wouldn't like, came in and wanted to help me. She was elderly, plumpish, named Mrs. Zamock or something. We went upstairs to plan how she could help us get out.