Book1:TeDream-Maker

tswereingalivewithcarsariahedoorofWorldBankfinallyopened．GatheringuphisceDimitrimovedslowlytowardsit．Hisraggedimagereflectedbythepolishedmarbleshamedhim,buthesteeledhimselftopushopentherevolvingdoorandsteppedintotheinterior,hisheartalmostjumpingoutofhismouth．Inthehallleyesrivetedtotheintruder,thisdirty,ragged,homelesspersonwhobravedthesanctuaryoftherich．Hesteppedohick,softcarpetashemadeforthelinefinfrontoftheterandthoughthowwonderfulitwouldbetosleeponit．Itwouldsurelybelikelyingonclouds．Whatsweetdreamsmightetohim?Hisrovingthoughtswereinterruptedbythevoiceofthetellerasking，

    "MayIhelpyou,sir?"

    "Ineedsomemoney,butIhaveificate.”

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    "Haveyoulostitormispcedit?Pleasegoovertoohedes