Look at women: the streets here are a scandal to the world.

They won't recognise that they exist--their noses are so dam high! They blink the truth in this middle-class counthry.

My bhoy"-- and he whispered confidentially--"ut pays 'em.

Eh?
you say, why shouldn't they, then ?" (But Shelton had not spoken.) "Well, let'em! let 'em! But don't tell me that'sh morality, don't tell me that'sh civilisation! What can you expect in a counthry where the crimson, emotions are never allowed to smell the air?
And what'sh the result?
My bhoy, the result is sentiment, a yellow thing with blue spots, like a fungus or a Stilton cheese.

Go to the theatre, and see one of these things they call plays.