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Their Yesterdays by Harold Bell Wright
page 84 of 221 (38%)

Upon the soul of the woman the laughter of the crowd fell like a demon
laugh from the depths of hell. Almost she shrieked aloud her protest.
Because she knew herself to be a woman, she almost shrieked aloud.

It was over in an instant. The patrol wagon rumbled away with its
burden of woe. The crowd melted as magically as it had gathered. At
the entrance of the building where she worked, the woman turned to
look back, as though fascinated by the horror of that which she had
seen. But, upon the surface of that sea of life, there was not the
faintest ripple to mark the spot of the tragedy.

And the crowd had laughed.

The woman knew the character of that place so near the building in
which she worked. Several times, each day, she passed the swinging
doors of the saloon below and, always, she saw men going in and out.
Many times she had caught glimpses of the faces of those who occupied
the rooms above as they watched at the windows. When first she went to
work she had known little of such things, but she was learning. Not
because she wished to learn but because she could not help it. But the
knowledge of such things had come to her so gradually that she had
grown accustomed to knowing even as she came to know. She had become
familiar with the fact without being forced to feel.

Perhaps, if the incident had occurred a few years later, when the
woman's knowledge was more complete, she, herself, might have been
able to laugh with the crowd. This knowledge that enables one so to
laugh is, seemingly, much prized these days among those who have not
the wisdom to value Ignorance.
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