"You haven't the least idea
what you'd be going up against, Stell. You've never been away from home,
and you've never had the least training at anything useful. You'd be on
your uppers in no time at all. You wouldn't have a ghost of a chance."
"I have such a splendid chance here," she retorted ironically. "If I
could get in any position where I'd be more likely to die of sheer
stagnation, to say nothing of dirty drudgery, than in this forsaken
hole, I'd like to know how. I don't think it's possible."
"You could be a whole lot worse off, if you only knew it," Benton
returned grumpily. "If you haven't got any sense about things, I have. I
know what a rotten hole Vancouver or any other seaport town is for a
girl alone. I won't let you make any foolish break like that. That's
flat."
From this position she failed to budge him. Once angered, partly by her
expressed intention and partly by the outspoken protest against the
mountain of work imposed on her, Charlie refused point-blank to give her
either the ninety dollars he had taken out of her purse or the three
months' wages due. Having made her request, and having met with this--to
her--amazing refusal, Stella sat dumb. There was too fine a streak in
her to break out in recrimination. She was too proud to cry.
So that she went to bed in a ferment of helpless rage. Virtually she was
a prisoner, as much so as if Charlie had kidnaped her and held her so by
brute force. The economic restraint was all potent.
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