by the Church, thanks again to Kedzie.

But one ought not to hate Kedzie. It was not her fault (was it?)
that she was cooked up out of sugar and spice and everything nice
into a little candy allegory of selfishness with one pink hand
over her little heartless heart-place and one pink hand always
outstretched for more.

Kedzie of the sugar lip and the honey eye! She was going to be carried
through New York from the sub-sub-cellar of its poverty to its highest
tower of wealth. She would sleep one night alone under a public bench
in a park, and another night, with all sorts of nights between, she
would sleep in a bed where a duchess had lain, and in arms Americanly
royal.

So much can the grand jumble of causes and effects that we call fate
do with a wanderer through life.

During the same five minutes which were Kedzie's other girls were
making for New York; some of them to succeed apparently, some of them
to fail undeniably, some of them to become fine, clean wives; some
of them to flare, then blacken against the sky because of famous
scandals and fascinating crimes in which they were to be involved.

Their motives were as various as their fates, and only one thing
is safe to say--that their motives and their fates had little to do
with one another. Few of the girls, if any, got what they came for
and strove for; and if they got it, it was not just what they thought
it was going to be.