Just look at them poor fallen men that are walkin' the streets night after night, poor creeters goin' right down to ruin and nobody trying to lead 'em up agin to the way of safety and virtue--poor fallen, ruined men! I feel to pity 'em." Sez Jane Olive, "Oh, shaw! they don't feel ruined, they're all right, I'll resk them." "How do you know how they feel?
Take a tender hearted, innocent man, that some bad, designin' woman has led astray, led him on till she has betrayed and ruined him, and he feels that the screen door of society is shet aginst him----" "Oh, shaw!" sez Jane Olive agin.

"The door of society hain't shet aginst the man, it never is." "Then," sez I, "there is sunthin' wrong with the door and it ort to be tended to." Sez she, "Things are winked at in a bad man that hain't in a bad woman." "Not by me," sez I firmly.

"The man won't git a wink out of me more or less than I would give to the woman." "It don't hurt a man," sez Jane Olive.

"And," sez she, "no self respectin' man goes to any place that hain't licensed and respectable." "If such houses are respectable," sez I, "and the law makes 'em so, why hain't the wimmen called so that keep 'em?
Why hain't the wimmen looked up to that work there ?" Sez Jane Olive, "You don't talk no good sense at all." Sez I, "Jane Olive, I am spozin'.

Mark you well, I don't say they are respectable; I say they are the depths of infamy.