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 She spoke very quickly, in a voice that rushed and rolled the words out, like pebbles.

"My father whipped me; my mother whipped me; my sisters whipped me; everybody whipped me; they made me do everything. I brought up my sisters."

"Why did they whip you?"

"I do not know; just to whip me. In all families there is some one who is whipped because  well, one does not know."

My questions no longer annoyed her. She was gaining confidence.

"And you?" she said to me, "did not your parents whip you?"

"Oh! yes."

"Of course; that is how things are."

Louise was no longer exploring her nose; her two hands, with their close-clipped nails, lay flat upon her thighs. Whispering was going on around us. Laughs, quarrels, and lamentations prevented the others from hearing our conversation.

"But how did you happen to come to Paris?" I asked, after a silence.

"Last year," answered Louise, "there was a lady from Paris at Saint-Michel-en-Grève, who was taking the sea-baths with her children. She had discharged her domestic for stealing, and I offered to go to work for her. And so she took me with her to Paris, to take care of her father, an old invalid whose legs were paralyzed."