His own voice trembled as he
answered, "But the people are not beasts. They do not realize. At heart
they--we are kind; we do not mean to be carelessly cruel. Do you believe
this, Miss Farwell?"
She turned from him wearily, as if in despair at trying to make him
understand.
"Of course I believe it," she answered. "But how does that affect the
situation? The same thing could be said, I suppose, of those who
crucified the Christ, and burned the martyrs at the stake. It is this
system, that has enslaved the people, that feeds itself upon the strength
that should be given to their fellow men. They give so much time and
thought and love to their churches and creeds, that they have nothing
left--nothing for girls like these." Her voice broke and she went to the
window.
In the silence Dan gazed at the form on the bed--gazed as if fascinated.
From without came the shouts of the negro boys at their game of ball,
and the sound of the people moving about in other parts of the building.
"Is there--is there no one who cares?" Dan said, at last in a hoarse
whisper.
"No one has made her feel that they care," the nurse answered, turning
back to him, and her manner and tone were cold again.
"But you" he persisted, "surely you care."
At this the gray eyes filled and the full voice trembled as she answered,
"Yes, yes I care. How could I help it? Oh, if we can only make her feel
that we--that someone wants her, that there is a place for her, that
there are those who need her!" She went to the bedside and stood looking
down at the still form.
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