Rotten, rotten old world,... and the wretchedest thing of all is me--
oh, why am I a girl? Why am I not a stupid--? Look at you; you're
stupider than I am, not much, but some, and you can lope about
and get bored and then lope somewhere else, and you can play
around with girls without being involved in meshes of sentiment,
and you can do anything and be justified-- and here I am with the
brains to do everything, yet tied to the sinking ship of future
matrimony. If I were born a hundred years from now, well and good,
but now what's in store for me-- I have to marry, that goes without
saying. Who? I'm too bright for most men, and yet I have to
descend to their level and let them patronize my intellect in order
to get their attention. Every year that I don't marry I've got less
chance for a first-class man. At the best I can have my choice
from one or two cities and, of course, I have to marry into a
dinner-coat.
(Eleanor, in "This Side of Paradise") |
