She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. E. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. She lay very still and closed her eyes, hear tears gliding off of her ears, causing them to itch. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. Manning, all this sort of thing is very well as sentiment, but does it correspond with the realities? Are women truly such angelic things and men so chivalrous? You men have, I know, meant to make us Queens and Goddesses, but in practice—well, look, for example, at the stream of girls one meets going to work of a morning, round-shouldered, cheap, and underfed! They aren’t queens, and no one is treating them as queens. You on the other hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life upon your own shoulders—and in addition all the burden of her follies. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you.
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