The Real “Knick” - The New Yorker
The Real “Knick” - The New Yorker:
"I climbed stair after stair, knocked on door after door, met drunk after drunk, filthy mother after filthy mother and met dying baby after dying baby. … There was no dodging the hopelessness of it all. It was an appalling summer, too, with an average of fifteen hundred babies dying each week in the city; lean, miserable, wailing little souls carried off wholesale by dysentery."
"I climbed stair after stair, knocked on door after door, met drunk after drunk, filthy mother after filthy mother and met dying baby after dying baby. … There was no dodging the hopelessness of it all. It was an appalling summer, too, with an average of fifteen hundred babies dying each week in the city; lean, miserable, wailing little souls carried off wholesale by dysentery."
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