How fortunate that few of these unhappy ones
had the imagination to realize their own wretchedness! "I
don't care what becomes of me," Clara was saying. "What is
there in it for me? I can have a good time only as long as my
looks last--and that's true of every woman, ain't it? What's
a woman but a body? Ain't I right?"
"That's why I'm going to stop being a woman as soon as ever I
can," said Susan.
"Why, you're packing up!" cried Clara.
"Yes. My friend's well enough to be moved. We're going to
live uptown."
"Right away?"
"This afternoon."
Clara dropped into a chair and began to weep. "I'll miss you
something fierce!" sobbed she. "You're the only friend in the
world I give a damn for, or that gives a damn for me. I wish
to God I was like you. You don't need anybody."
"Oh, yes, I do, dear," cried Susan.
"But, I mean, you don't lean on anybody. I don't mean you're
hard-hearted--for you ain't. You've pulled me and a dozen
other girls out of the hole lots of times. But you're
independent. Can't you take me along? I can drop that bum
across the hall. I don't give a hoot for him. But a girl's
got to make believe she cares for somebody or she'd blow her
brains out."
"I can't take you along, but I'm going to come for you as soon
as I'm on my feet," said Susan. "I've got to get up myself
first. I've learned at least that much."
"Oh, you'll forget all about _me_.
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