Why should he own two hundred horses, an' women, an' the rest, an' you an' me own nothin' ?" "You own your silk, Billy," she said softly.
"An' you yours.

Yet we sell it to 'em like it was cloth across the counter at so much a yard.

I guess you're hep to what a few more years in the laundry'll do to you.

Take me.

I'm sellin' my silk slow every day I work.