I was, in all essential truth, a woman of the
street--not yet lowered utterly to that level, not yet sacrificed, but
with no moral strength left for resistance. No fear, no horror. Oh,
God! it seems like some awful dream--yet it was true, true! I had
ceased to struggle, to care; I had begun to drift; I had lost
everything a woman prizes, even my faith in God. I know you cannot
comprehend what this means--no man could. But I want you to try.
Think what it would mean to your sister, to some pure friend in whom
you have implicit trust. Oh, I know what the world would say--the
well-fed, well-clothed, well-housed, sneering world--but it is to you I
appeal for some slight mercy. You have also suffered, and grown weak,
and, because you told me your story first, I dare now to tell mine. I
was a soul on the brink, and--God forgive me!--not afraid of the rocks
below. Like one stupefied I looked down, hated myself and laughed."
CHAPTER VIII
FACING THE PROBLEM
My fingers closed yet more tightly over the small hand, but her face
remained rigid, the lines deep about the mouth.
"The landlady had turned me out," speaking now bitterly and swiftly,
"retaining my few belongings, and calling me a foul name which made me
cower away like a whipped child.
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