**Start:** I suppose. He give me some...

Start:

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’t even look out at her there in the church pews, but she’d sit there proudly every Sunday, determined to gain God’s favor. Marry good. She didn’t 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 “pretty” 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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