“Oh! it’s all the same to me now⁠— now! But at that time I would soak my pillow at night with tears of mortification, and tear at my blanket in my rage and fury. Oh, how I longed at that time to be turned out⁠— me , eighteen years old, poor, half-clothed, turned out into the street, quite alone, without lodging, without work, without a crust of bread, without relations, without a single acquaintance, in some large town⁠—hungry, beaten (if you like), but in good health⁠—and then I would show them⁠—

“What would I show them?