My mother I insisted I read this before she passed on the (apparently rare) copy she had along to her friend. I dutifully plowed through it this past week, and what a wild ride. Flora Solomon lived a life, which she recounts with a clear and gimlet eye. I love the memoir of a fancy 20th century lady, and it was refreshing to read one in which the author had little sentimentality for her pampered childhood as the daughter of a Russian Jewish banker and willingly recognizes how the luxuries her family enjoyed were the direct result of the heinous exploitation of workers that helped spark the Russian Revolution.