“The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. Come back with me to-night. All the turnkeys were assembled. To compare me to a starving pig.
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