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by Margaret E. Sangster (Author)
The Superintendent raised tired eyes from her plate. She was little and slim and gray, this Superintendent; it seemed almost as though the slums had drained from her the life and colour. "When you've been working in this section for twenty years," she said slowly, "you'll realize that nobody can ever understand. You'll realize that we all have animal traits-to a certain extent. And you'll realize that quarrelling isn't ever worth while." "But"-Rose-Marie was inclined to argue the point-"but Dr. Blanchard talks as if the people down here are scarcely human And it's not right to feel so about one's fellow-men. Dr. Blanchard acts as if the people down here haven't souls " The Young Doctor helped himself nonchalantly to a second roll. "There's a certain sort of a little bug that lives in the water," he said, "and it drifts around aimlessly until it finds another little bug that it holds on to. And then another little bug takes hold, and another, and another.
