" Edith spoke in a rapid manner,
but in a tone that went straight to the heart.
"Why, my poor child," said Mrs. Groody, wiping her eyes, "you can't do
work. You are pale as a ghost, and you look like a delicate lady."
"What is there in this world for a delicate lady who has no money but
honest work?" asked Edith, in a tone that was almost stern.
"I see that you are such a lady, and it seems that you ought to find
some lady-like work, if you must do it," said Mrs. Groody, musingly.
"We have tried to get employment--almost any kind. I can't think my
sister would have taken her desperate course if we could have obtained
something to do. I know she ought to have starved first. But we were
not brought up to work, and we can't do anything well enough to
satisfy people, and we haven't time to learn. Besides, before this
happened, for some reason people stood aloof from us, and now it will
be far worse. Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do?" cried Edith,
despairingly; and in her trouble she seemed to turn her eyes away from
Mrs. Groody, with wild questioning of the future.
Her new acquaintance was sniffling and blowing her nose in a manner
that betokened serious internal commotion.
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