Susan lingered, fascinated by this exhibit of the price to the
many of civilization for the few. Work? Never! Not any more
than she would. "Work" in a dive! Work--either branch of it,
factory and shop or dive meant the sale of all the body and all
the soul; her profession--at least as she practiced it--meant
that perhaps she could buy with part of body and part of soul
the privilege of keeping the rest of both for her own self. If
she had stayed on at work from the beginning in Cincinnati,
where would she be now? Living in some stinking tenement hole,
with hope dead. And how would she be looking? As dull of eye
as the rest, as pasty and mottled of skin, as ready for any
chance disease. Work? Never! Never! "Not at anything that'd
degrade me more than this life. Yes--more." And she lifted
her head defiantly. To her hunger Life was thus far offering
only a plate of rotten apples; it was difficult to choose among
them--but there was choice.
She was awakened by the telephone bell; and it kept on ringing
until she got up and spoke to the office through the sender.
Never had she so craved sleep; and her mental and physical
contentment of three hours and a half before had been succeeded
by headache, a general soreness, a horrible attack of the
blues. She grew somewhat better, however, as she washed first
in hot water, then in cold at the stationary stand which was
quite as efficient if not so luxurious as a bathtub.
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