dBooks desire

She,
hindered by her innocence, was slow in realizing that
she could not hope for admission to any select respectable
circle, even of high-class salesladies and clerks,
unless she gave a free and clear account of herself--
whence she had come, what she was doing, how she got
her money.
Toward the end of the second day's wearisome and
humiliating search she found a house that would admit
her. It was a pretentious, well-furnished big house in
Madison Avenue. The price--thirty-five dollars a
week for board, a bedroom with a folding bed in an
alcove, and a bath, was more than double what she had
counted on paying, but she discovered that decent and
clean lodgings and food fit to eat were not to be had
for less. ``And I simply can't live pig-fashion,'' said
she. ``I'd be so depressed that I could do nothing. I
can't live like a wild animal, and I won't.'' She had
some vague notion--foreboding--that this was not
the proper spirit with which to face life. ``I suppose
I'm horribly foolish,'' reflected she, ``but if I must go
down, I'll go down with my colors flying.


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