Fanny’s first play

I’m not hardened, mother. But I can’t talk nonsense about it. You see, it’s all real to me. I’ve suffered
it. I’ve been shoved and bullied. I’ve had my arms twisted. I’ve been made to scream with the pain in
other ways. I’ve been flung into a filthy cell with a lot of other poor wretches as if I were a sack of
coal being emptied into a cellar. And the only difference between me and the others was that I hit
back.
Yes, I did. And I did worse. I wasn’t ladylike. I cursed. I called names. I heard words that I didn’t
even know that I knew coming out of my mouth just as if somebody else had spoken them. The
policemen repeated them in court. The magistrate said he could hardly believe it. Then I was
sentenced. So now you see I’m not a bit the sort of girl you thought me. I’m not a bit the sort of girl I
thought myself.