Why, I even owe money to the maids, and I can't discharge either
of them, because I'd have to pay her. But they must somehow be sent away.
I wonder if Father couldn't sell the farm. That would bring more than a
mortgage; but it might take months, and even then I need in a single year
more than all he has in the world.
Will any woman who reads the story of my life--the real story which
sometime I shall write, leaving out the paltry details which now harass
me--will any woman believe that the most beautiful woman in the world in
the wonderful year, of the finding of the Bacillus actually thought of
tramping the streets, looking for work, like a story heroine seeking her
fortune? I shall have to do something--anything!
But I can't work; I'm not calm enough, and it would ruin my beauty.
The luck must change!
Sometimes I see more clearly than the sordidness of this horrible
existence, a big palace with a terraced front and a mile long drive
straight to the park gate, past great trees and turf that is always green;
and long rows of stately ladies looking down on me from their frames on
the lofty wall beside soldiers that have stood silent guard there three
hundred years.
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