I am an honest woman, and because of that fact, I was an equally honest girl. As a grown woman looking back on my childhood, I can see that honesty was not always considered a valuable trait or even a virtuous trait in young women. The manner of my honesty often exasperated matters. I coated very little with the sweet tongue of honey as was the custom for young ladies of my time. To be very plain, I had very little use for such practices.
In the late nineteenth century, The Hague was a center for Dutch artists and dealers who helped deliver unto the world a new era in revolutionary painting. This was true for the countless struggling artists and art dealers that lived and worked there. It was a center for an explosion of expression that was shadowed only by the even larger revolution happening in Paris.
However, my mother and I knew nothing of the major artistic strides created in our fair city because my moeder was an alcoholic whore. I did say that I was honest, so it should be understood that I would not label her as such to purely insult my moeder. The plain truth was that she sold her body to feed us in times of great need. To cope with her intense misery and sorrow, she would turn to the comforts of liquor.
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