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Mrs. Dickson, a comfortable widow who owns a
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I suppose. He give me some laughs. But you see, my mother wanted me to marry up. She was a washerwoman, and and my father was the very married minister of our mission. He couldn鈥檛 even look out at her there in the church pews, but she鈥檇 sit there proudly every Sunday, determined to gain God鈥檚 favor. Marry good. She didn鈥檛 ever want me to be embarrassed of my fingers the way she was of hers. [...]
End:
I allowed myself to be flattered by gentlemen. You understand? Yes, this 鈥減retty鈥� gal done things, un-pretty things, for this marble mantle, gaslights in every room, a player piano, and an indoor toilet. Mr. Dickson was a good man -- bless his broken-down soul. He had fine suits and perfect diction, and was too high on opium to notice that he was married. But I would not be washerwoman if it killed me. And I have absolutely marvelous hands to prove it.
Nottage, Lynn. Intimate Apparel. Dramatists Play Service, New York, NY, 2005. pp. 32-33.
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