There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship. She was now permitted freely to study the face. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Every time you mention the father, she turns into marble. He began to tell me something—and stopped. . " "Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has had enough.
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