It isn’t illusions—for us. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. "Do you know what you are talking about, Mrs. “I don’t take any prisoners, John! You do not want this life!” “Yes I do! I am an adult. " "You're a damn fool, too!" exploded the trader. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. Suddenly all this makes you human.
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