272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. But the cases were not identical. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. My people don’t know what to do.
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