Standing in a police station in late '60s Rome, Wallis Wilde-Menozzi waited for a clerk to decide her fate. She was 26, American, and in need of a work permit. She’d traded tenure at an Oxford technical college for the uncertain life of a writer. Scanning her application, the clerk dictated a new statement for her. “I came to Rome because I was a writer and I needed the inspiration of ancestors, the classical world, the sound of feet on stones.” He stamped the approval, chiding, “You can’t say just one book. You need time.”
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