Our Reporter: What are you?
Fanny (laughing): Wot am I? A gal.
Our Reporter: Do you go to school?
Fanny (with a cunning shake of her head): Ketch me at it!
Our Reporter: What do you do?
Fanny: I sells matches—two boxes a penny—and I falls asleep on purpose in front of the Nacheral Gallery.
Our Reporter: The National Gallery. In Trafalgar Square, where the fountains are?
Fanny: That’s the place—where the little man without legs plays the accorgeon.
Our Reporter: Why do you fall asleep there?
Fanny (with a sad, wistful smile): That’s mother’s little game. She makes me.