“But why live?” Myra asked desperately. “Life isn’t attractive. We have to struggle to eat, struggle against the weather, we ride in crowded buses, teach stupid children things they don’t want to know, we drink and smoke and walk down the street to the drugstore, go to church and sing hymns in shrill nasal voices, go to recitals at the Woman’s Club—and why? For what? Just because we want to live? I don’t think so.
