From certain standpoints this girl seems to be almost ideal human material. The institution called her “intelligent, conscientious, and, far beyond our girls, sensitive to fine distinctions of right and wrong.” All her wishes are strong and social. She craves pleasure, association with “nice young mens”, dancing, pretty clothes, but is an industrious worker. Her letters to Lilian are overflowing with the desire for response—both to give it and to receive it. In a letter after her return to the institution, not printed here, she refers to the child of her former employer: “Oh, I was glad to hear about Max. How often I think about the times he used to pull my hair, and that was a great joke. Yes, I often think and talk about him. Give him my love and see if any of my flowers are up. If so, put one on him for me.” And she is always thinking of improving her position in the world. “We are,” she says, “going to look for some nice man, but something better, not only working men.” She is ashamed of her relation to the egg man, “because he is only egg man.” She does not want it known that she pawned a dress. In her reference to Austrian army officers and a sweetheart in Bohemia, she wishes to claim before her mistress that she has some social standing. During the whole of her parole she is working on the problem of her life. She is working alone, and she leaves no stone unturned. She is in a village, not allowed to visit New York. She plans her campaign for a new trial by letter, working through a stupid friend who unintentionally betrays her. Her lawyer is exploiting her, her doctor also; her Italian friend is not loyal, her uncle promises help but is poor. She even appeals to the garbage man. Like many who have sought to reconstruct a broken life, she plans to go west.