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Yet tonight had been the first time in her life that she felt like she’d accomplished something with eternal consequences. She had literally helped change a life for the better. She’d assisted in pulling out a young woman from the darkest, deepest, most vile pit of despair, and in doing so, Dolly had not only helped rescue another’s soul, she’d rescued her own.
They’ve been reduced to what we call paper daughters. Without a home. Without care or love.” “Paper daughters,” Dolly whispered. These girls had become no more than documents with false names; they had given up not only their identities but their dignity.
Sometimes the most joyful moments for one person brought on deep pain for another.
As long as there was corruption on all levels and among all races, the mission home’s work would never be finished.
Dolly released a sigh. Legally married or not, paper daughter or true daughter, no human deserved the abuse of another.
“We might live in the land of the free, but none of us are truly free as long as slavery exists in our society.”
Judy Yung writes, “Whereas the majority of white prostitutes came to San Francisco as independent professionals and worked for wages in brothels, Chinese prostitutes were almost always kidnapped, lured, or purchased from poor parents by procurers in China for as little as $50 and then resold in America for as much as $1,000 in the 1870s” (Unbound Feet, 27). By the 1920s, the price reached from $6,000 to $10,000 in gold (Martin, Chinatown’s Angry Angel, 239).
