He arose from his chair and personally unfastened my brassiere from the back, removing it and letting it fall onto my dress and slip. As my breasts were exposed to his view, my hands wanted to fly up instinctively to protect them, because nobody except my own parents had ever seen me undressed so shamefully before. But as I started the movement with a stifled sob of shame, my mother frowned at me in disapproval, and shook her head warningly. Both she and Father were anxious for me to do nothing to offend Mr. Raleigh which might spoil their chances of getting the loan. They knew as well as I that I was not being subjected to a medical examination, but merely being inspected like a slave to satisfy Mr. Raleigh that I had a perfectly formed body. I felt as alone and helpless as a slave girl must feel when she is put upon the auction block, stripped of her clothes, and sold to the highest bidder. And that thought seemed all the more true then, because I had read in history books that slave girls were made to undress under the whip… and, well, if I hadn't taken off my clothes of my own free will, Mother and Father would both have whipped me.