"Like taking candy from a baby?" Blanchard finished for her.
"Yes," she nodded. "That's just what he would call it. And
whenever he tells you you are standing on your foot watch out for
him. Now I must go. Good bye, and thank you again."
She went on down the sidewalk, his cheery good bye ringing in her
ears. He was kind--she admitted it honestly; yet he was one of
the clever ones, one of the masters, who, according to Billy,
were responsible for all the cruelty to labor, for the hardships
of the women, for the punishment of the labor men who were
wearing stripes in San Quentin or were in the death cells
awaiting the scaffold. Yet he was kind, sweet natured, clean,
good. She could read his character in his face. But how could
this be, if he were responsible for so much evil? She shook her
head wearily. There was no explanation, no understanding of this
world which destroyed little babes and bruised women's breasts.
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