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working on a bigger loom, that could be arranged in due course. 

Thereafter, I wove late into the night, and wearing my flat-heeled shoes, carrying fabrics in my suitcase, I walked all over New York, peddling my weaving, or trying to. 

I suppose it was at this time that the possibility of supporting myself by weaving must have presenteditself [[presented itself]] to me. Buyers in the tough, competitive field of design liked my designs; it appeared that there was a place in the market for hand weaving. What a wonderful thought: Teaching art was enjoyable but it could never offer the equivalent rewardsin [[rewards in]] personal satisfaction, mush less in financial returns. The conviction grew that this was to be my metier.

I do not wish to leave the impression that my first year in New York was all work and no play. For me of course the line of demarcation has never been clearly drawn. Tramping art galleries and bending for long hours over the loom may be work, physically, but not aesthetically. In an case, there