human
Lida, sometimes I think only God and the doctors know how heavy women's loads are,
gpt
Ain't that so--Doc Jim! she cried.
human
Ain't that the truth? I've had a long time to think these two days and nights--and I've thought it all over and all out. Here I am nearly fifty and eight times you and I have fought it out with death and brought life into this world. I'm strong--I don't mind that. I joyed at their coming, and made the others edge over at the table, and snuggle up in the bed, and we've been happy. Even the three that are dead--I'm glad they came; I'm thankful for 'em. And Dick he's been so proud of each one, and cuddled it, and muched it--
gpt
Oh, little Ben--little Ben, how pappy made over his hair--he was born with hair--don't you mind, Doc Jim?
human
Curliest headed little tyke, and don't you remember Laura gave him Lila's baby things she'd saved for all those years?
gpt
Yes, Doc Jim--don't I? God knows, Doc, she's been a mother to the whole Valley--when I got up I found I was the twentieth woman up and down the Valley she'd given Lila's little things to--just to save our pride when she thought we would not take 'em any other way. Don't I know--all about it--and she's still doing it--God bless her, and she's been here every morning, noon and night since--since--she came with a little beef tea, or some of her own wine, or a plate of hot toast in her basket--that she made me eat. Why, if it wasn't for her and Henry and Violet and Grant--what would God's poor in this Valley do in trouble--I sure dunno.
human
Well, Lida--you folks in the Valley don't get half the fun out of it that the others get. It's pie for them.
gpt
Doc Jim, she began,
human
She stared at him wildly and cried
gpt
O God--God, Doc Jim--what justice is there in it? I've been a kind of brood-mare bearing burden carriers for Dan Sands, who has sold my blood like cheese in his market. My mother sent three boys to the war who never came back and I've heard her cry and thank God He'd let her. But my flesh and blood--the little ones that Dick and me have coddled and petted and babied--they've been fed into the wheels to make profits--profits for idlers to squander--profits to lure women to shame and men to death. That's what I've been giving my body and soul for, Doc Jim. Little Ben up there has given his legs and his arms--oh, those soft little arms and the cunning little legs I used to kiss--for what? I'll tell you--he's given them so that by saving a day's work repairing a car, some straw boss could make a showing to a superintendent, and the superintendent could make a record for economy to a president, and a president could increase dividends--dividends to be spent by idlers. And idleness makes drunkards who make harlots who make hell--and all my little boy's arms and legs will go for is for sin and shame.
human
Oh, you know that's the truth--the God's truth, Doc Jim. Where's my Jean? She went into the glass factory--worked twelve hours a day on a job that would have crippled her for life in another year, and then went away with that Austrian blower--and when he threw her out, she was ashamed to write--and for a long time now I've read the city papers of them women who kill themselves--hoping to find she was dead. And Mugs--you know what South Harvey's made of him--
gpt
I tell you, Doc Jim--I hate it. She pointed to the great black mills and mine shafts and the piles of brick and lumber and sheet iron that stretched before her for a mile.
human
I hate it, and I'm going to hit it once before I die. Don't talk peace to me. I've got a right to hit it and hit it hard--and if my time ever comes--