"
"Nothing to do!" I retorted, in an angry manner. "I am sick
and tired of the way my Sex is always reproached as having
nothing to do. If you consider French and music and Algebra and
History and English composition nothing, as well as keeping
house and having children and atending to social duties, _I do_
not."
"Sorry," he said, stiffly. "Of course I had no idea--do you
mean that you have a Familey of your own?"
"I was refering to my Sex in general," I replied, in a cold
tone.
He then said that there were Camps for girls, like
Plattsburg only more Femanine, and that they were bully. (This
was his word. I do not use slang.)
"You see," he said, "they take a lot of over-indulged
society girls and make them over into real People."
Ye gods! Over-indulged!
"Why don't you go to one?" he then asked.
"Evadently," I said, "I am not a real Person."
"Well, I wouldn't go as far as that. But there isn't much
left of the way God made a girl, by the time she's been curled
and dressed and governessed for years, is there? They can't even
walk, but they talk about helping in the War.
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