“So there were other girls?”
He hesitated. “Well, no, there were no other girls,” he said. “You see, until you came along…”
“I think you’re a hit potty,” she said, holding her head down. “Aren’t you, George? Just a little potty?”
He poured water over her hair, then the shampoo. His hands felt her hard little skull. The water turned a muddy brown.
“Dirty slut, aren’t I?” Corn said, with a sudden embarrassed laugh. “Does it put you off?”
“Keep still,” George said. “I’ve nearly finished.” He experienced an overwhelming feeling of love and pity for her: a feeling that he imagined a mother must have for her child. “There. Now you can sit up. Come into the other room and sit in the sun. It’ll dry quickly in the sun.”
When Cora was sitting by the window, George turned his attention to the room.
“Maybe I could sell these newspapers for you,” he said.
“You’re the giddy limit,” Cora returned, laughing. “Try if you want to. I’ve been too lazy to bother with them. There’s a sheeney across the way who buys junk. He keeps open on Sundays.”
George nodded. “I’ll try him. There’s such a lot of rubbish here. You can hardly move for falling over it. And the bottles, too. Can I clear them all out?”