One night she apparently fell asleep. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. She had to explain about and pay off that forty pounds. She was reasonably certain why.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-08-2024 10:55:19
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