"And why don't we have flowers always, and pretty silvery things like Mrs. Emery has?"
"Oh, be quiet, you little grumbler."
"Here's a crust for you, Terry, a nice burnt one, the kind you like."
"You're spoiling her, Miss Grace. I'd let her starve. Which side did you get out of your bed this morning?"
"Oh, Bessie, don't. I hate that saying. And I got out on the right side, too. I went to the docks. I like them. I saw a boat go through—a beauty."
"You'll fall into the water one of these days."
Theresa leaned her elbows on the table and nursed her chin.
"What do you think," she asked, "would happen if I did? It's dirty water. I should go splash and get a mouthful. It might make me sick. And then?"
Gently waving her teacup, Bessie elaborated. "They'd fish you out—with a 'ook."
"Dead?"