“Who'd ever guess," said Francie, ¨looking at the outside of him, that he was so different inside?¨”

“Going home in the trolley, Francie held the shoebox in her lap because Mama had no lap now. Francie thought deep thoughts during her ride. 'If what Granma Mary Rommely said is true, then it must be that no one ever dies, really. Papa is gone, but he's still here in many ways. He's here in Neeley who looks just like him and in Mama who knew him so long. He's here in his mother who began him and who is still living. Maybe I will have a boy some day who looks like Papa and has all of Papa's good without the drinking. And that boy will have a boy. And that boy will have a boy. It might be there is no real death.' Her thougths went to McGarrity. 'No one would ever believe there was any part of Papa in him.”

“The difference between rich and poor", said Francie, "is that the poor do everything with thier own hands and the rich hire hands to do things.”

“Francie of course became an outsider shunned by all because of her stench. But she had grown accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and being considered different. She did not suffer to much.”

“Well' Francie decided, 'I guess the thing that is giving me this headache is life - and nothing else but'.”

“Well," Francie decided, "I guess the thing that is giving me this headache is life-and nothing else but.”

“Francie looked at her legs. They were long, slender, and exquisitely molded. She wore the sheerest of flawless silk stockings, and expensively made high-heeled pumps shod her beautifully arched feet. "Beautiful legs, then, is the secret of being a mistriss," concluded Francie. She looked down at her own long thin legs. "I'll never make it, I guess." Sighing , she resigned herself to a sinless life.”