Who are you?
What are you?
Where do you belong?
You belong by rights to girls like Lizzie Connolly.

You belong with the legions of toil, with all that is low, and vulgar, and unbeautiful.

You belong with the oxen and the drudges, in dirty surroundings among smells and stenches.

There are the stale vegetables now.

Those potatoes are rotting.