THE LADY of the Motor-car she stareth straight ahead; Her face is like the stone, my friend, her face is like the dead; Her face is like the stone, my friend, because she is "well-bred"-- Because her heart is dead, my friend, as all her life was dead.
The Lady of the Motor-car she speaketh like a man, Because her girlhood never was, nor womanhood began. She says, "To the Aus-traliah, John!" and "Home" when she hath been. And to the husband at her side she says, "Whhat doo you mean?"
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