I can get into my clothes. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. Manning, all this sort of thing is very well as sentiment, but does it correspond with the realities? Are women truly such angelic things and men so chivalrous? You men have, I know, meant to make us Queens and Goddesses, but in practice—well, look, for example, at the stream of girls one meets going to work of a morning, round-shouldered, cheap, and underfed! They aren’t queens, and no one is treating them as queens. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary.
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