An Inspector Calls

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Paul Earle

An Inspector Calls

Entry 1

I’d thought about it long and hard before, contemplating my decision. I’d tried to deter myself from the idea of becoming one of those women. They were vile, repulsive creatures, thrusting themselves on drunken gentlemen, selling their bodies and their dignities with no receipt. There was no other option. It was a necessity that I had to endure, so I travelled to The Palace Bar, a favourite haunt of the women of the town. As soon as I opened the door I was struck, like a batter smacking a ball for six, by a wall of smoke and alcohol, which nearly overwhelmed me. There were a few frenzied seconds when I got odd looks from other women who were smothering the so-called “well respected” men, but they soon carried on with their business.

I gazed around the room, astonished by the lack of respect and hesitated, torn by uncertainty, but eventually recalled why I had come here, and entered. It was one of the most arduous things I’ve ever had to do.

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It was a long and nervous wait, not belonging there, as the minutes trickled by agonizingly. I was turning to flee when approached by a half drunk fat carcass, which herded me into the corner of the hellish bar. His hot breath clouded my face, making me drowsy. His firm hands were on my waist and I tried to edge aside but it was to no avail, so I resorted to thrashing about like a bronco horse, trying to escape. I helplessly scanned the room for a saviour, someone who could free me from my attacker. I noticed a ...

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