Slowly but certainly the morass drags her down.
Often she does not reach thirty. If she lives it is to face a state in
which, toothless, wrinkled, and obscene, she is seen only by those who
visit the murkiest parts of our cities. She dies unmoored and unloved,
and is hurried into an unknown grave.
And she exists because men say they _must_ indulge their passions and
women believe it. She is the incarnation not of her own but of
society's shame. She is the scapegoat for thousands who live on in
careless comfort. Every man who touches her pushes her farther down,
and our hollow pretence of social morality is built upon her quivering
body.
Will you men who read this please think about her! Think till you are
horrified, disgusted, and ashamed. Think till you realize this
unthinkable thing. And then remember that she exists only because of
us. We as a sex have created this infamy. We as a sex still continue to
condone it.
And there is only one cure for it. It is that we should stop uttering
or believing the lie that we must indulge our passions and should act
upon the truth that continence outside marriage is perfectly possible,
and that we owe it to women, to ourselves, and to God to achieve it.
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