82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. 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. "Ah!" she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in Sheppard's hand, "don't hurt Thames—don't, dear Jack! If you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. All my plans have succeeded.
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