In one of the most notorious resorts in the South side levee district, lost to all self-respect and shame, is a certain prostitute who drags her wornout body about, selling it to vice victims night after night.
That woman is the daughter of an alderman of the city of Chicago!
Four years ago she was the idol of a happy home, the pet of a loving father and the darling of a happy mother. Today she is a drunken, depraved creature.
Her father has done everything in his power to rescue her. With his own political power he has obtained permission from the vice masters to take his daughter from her infamous prison.
That woman has looked at her father and cried out:
“It is too late! Society would spurn me and I would have to flee away. Besides my body is wrecked and could not live without the intoxicants and drugs I can feed it here.”
The father offered her $10,000 a year as an allowance if the girl would leave her evil ways. Again she refused because she knew in the depths of her heart that the shackles welded long ago could never be broken, and that the poison eating through her blood could never be purged out.
If this girl with every possible influence brought to bear to save her was beyond salvation, what of the thousands who, even if they would, cannot move hand or foot to escape the death waiting for them but a few years away?
That is the story of the prostitute. It is not a story of the woman considered as an entity, deprived of her relative existence; it is the story of the slave as a commercialized being existing solely for the enrichment of the Directorate of Ten of the Vice Trust and not because she is needed to serve the passions of men.