Do you
mind my rambling?"
"Go on, please."
"You don't know what such a life means. You're a producer; I've been a
doll tricked out for inspection by the men who are rich enough to buy
expensive dolls. But we've no money. Society asks about that first of
all when--an Aunty is trying to put a doll up for sale:
"'What have you to offer? Honesty? Character? Decency? Oh,
well-hm-hm. Is that all? Then stand in the corner there among the
obscure ones. Some one will see you in time--if you live long enough.
And the next: What have you to offer? Intelligence; thought? No sale;
you make us all feel uncomfortable. Virtue? Tut, tut, my dear!
Cleverness, charm, facile smartness? The crowd gathers round. Beauty?
The crowd grows thicker. Money--wealth--gold by millions? Ah! Come
to our arms, you golden one, rotten to the core though you may
be--gentleman with a gorilla's tastes; lady with Madonna face, Venus
body, viper soul! Come to the throne; we salaam before you--your gold
has made you sacred.'
"Oh! The stench of it still is in my nostrils; I still feel thick cold
fingers on my bare arms. I once was one of them--serenely satisfied
that I was one of the elect of earth, though I had never produced a
thing in this world, but only consumed.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162