e is like Mary Maclain and finds a peculiar inspiration in
this fascinating task. If you were a woman I would write more about
Esther's scrubbing, which is very wonderful, but you probably would not
understand. Jay, her lover, comes home from work every evening, and,
after eating the chaste evening meal of rice and beans, lights his
corncob pipe, settles himself comfortably in his chair and listens
carefully to the description of the aches and pains which have afflicted
Esther that day. These pains continue in spite of all the beautiful
scrubbing. He suggests different remedies until his pipe is finished,
then he calmly retires to his library and reviews a book and reads
several pamphlets, writes an article for '_The Demonstrator_' or '_The
Appeal to Reason_' or some other radical paper and attends to his
voluminous correspondence with the leading radicals of the day. Then he
retires for the night, also Esther, after the farewell scrub of the
dishes, table, and the rest, and the kids, too, go to roost. When I was
there, I also went to bed, though it was only about half past eight.

"About half past five in the morning a most infernal alarm clock emits a
most hellish noise. Jay and Esther tumble from their couch, light the
lamp, and resume their occupations. After a very chaste breakfast Esther
continues her scrubbing and Jay finishes his correspondence and puts in
the rest of the time until seven o'clock, when his work in the factory
begins, in studying the new language, Esperanto. Oh, I spent a most
charming and delightful week there; I could hardly tear myself away."

One of Marie's amorous episodes led her to Detroit, with a "fake"
anarchist, of whom there are many. After a week or two of dissipation
and disillusionment, Marie returned, very ill, to the "Salon," where
Terry received her with his usual stoicism, and acted as trained nurse.
Repentant and disgusted, Marie wrote me from her convalescent bed:

"I am still far from well, but am much better. My illness was caused by
too much dissipation, which I plunged into for relaxation. For some
weeks previously I had got a particularly large dose of my environment.
Terry and I live in surroundings which would kill an ordinary person.
Our little home is not as bad in the summer time. We can have the
windows and doors open, but now in this cold winter we must all live in
one room, a very small room, where there is a stove. The dampness
penetrates right through the walls