Look at you, standing there in your iron- gray dress, feeling pious
and self- righteous while you starve small children!

Go on, glare your eyes at me, and cry and plead, and talk to
me about money and what it can buy. But it can't buy back a child once he's dead!

Heaven has no room for the self-righteous.

Then turn your eyes back on me,
and tell me that Cathy and I are still children to be treated with condescension, and are incapable of understanding adult subjects.

Children are very wise
intuitively; they know who loves them most, and who only pretends.

People can afford righteousness, till they're asked to open their wallet...