17/18 I do not know what fateful impulse moves me now, but I can look into your eyes without sense of shame, and confess this. I was, in all essential truth, a woman of the street--not yet lowered utterly to that level, not yet sacrificed, but with no moral strength left for resistance. Oh, God! it seems like some awful dream--yet it was true, true! I had ceased to struggle, to care; I had begun to drift; I had lost everything a woman prizes, even my faith in God. I know you cannot comprehend what this means--no man could. |