"But," cried Marjorie, "don't you really, really in your own heart, know that there isn't any such person?—that she's nothing—nothing—nothing,—and that she can't rule you—and she can't punish you—and she can't reward you,—that she can't even exist, herself;—that she isn't anything—not anything nor anywhere!"
The boy nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, "down in my heart and up in my common sense I know all that,—and so do all of us;—but we've gotten into a habit of bowing down to the make-believe whims of a make-believe slave driver, and we kow-tow to her all the time, and whenever Common Sense tries to shame us out of it, we jump on him in a body and throttle him,—and then do some more kow-towing."
"Why don't you get to work and organize a strike, or a boycott or something?" said Marjorie.
"I really have a notion to," said the boy. "I never thought much about it
