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Damaged Goods | Upton Sinclair | |
Chapter V |
Page 8 of 9 |
The doctor's voice bore once again its note of pity. "Your husband died of it?" "Yes, sir." "He took no care of himself?" "No, sir." "And was not that a warning to you?" "Doctor," the woman replied, "I would ask nothing better than to come as often as you told me, but the cost is too great." "How--what cost? You were coming to my free clinic." "Yes, sir," replied the woman, "but that's during working hours, and then it is a long way from home. There are so many sick people, and I have to wait my turn, It is in the morning-- sometimes I lose a whole day--and then my employer is annoyed, and he threatens to turn me off. It is things like that that keep people from coming, until they dare not put it off any longer. Then, too, sir--" the woman stopped, hesitating. "Well," demanded the doctor. "Oh, nothing, sir," she stammered. "You have been too good to me already." "Go on," commanded the other. "Tell me." "Well," murmured the woman, "I know I ought not to put on airs, but you see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband's misfortune, we were well fixed. So you see, I have a little pride. I have always managed to take care of myself. I am not a woman of the streets, and to stand around like that, with everybody else, to be obliged to tell all one's miseries out loud before the world! I am wrong, I know it perfectly well; I argue with myself--but all the same, it's hard, sir; I assure you, it is truly hard." |
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Damaged Goods Upton Sinclair |
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