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Daviess, Maria Thompson, 1872-1924

"The Melting of Molly"


He's not like other men and there aren't any other men on earth but him!
All the rest are just bugs or bats or something worse. And I'm not
anything myself. There's no excuse for my living and I wish I wasn't so
healthy and likely to go on doing it. It was all over and there was
nothing left for me to live for, and before I could stop myself I buried
my face in my hands.
"Billy asked me to go with him on this awful whale hunt!" I sobbed out
to comfort myself with the thought that somebody did care for me,
regardless of just how I was further embarrassing and complicating
myself in the affairs of the two men I had thought I owned and was now
finding out that I had to give up. I wish I had been looking at him, for
I felt him start, but he said in his big friendly voice that is so
much--and never enough for me.
"Well, why not you and Al come along and make it a family party, if that
is what suits Bill, the boss?"
If men would just buy good, sharp, kitchen knives and cut out women's
hearts in a businesslike way it would be so much kinder of them.
Why do they prefer to use dull weapons that mash the life out slowly?
Everything is at an end for me to-night and that blow did it.


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