“But you surely can’t make a living selling newspapers?”
“No, there’s nothin’ in it. There’s too many at it. The blessed women spoil it. There’s one got a good stand down in George Street, and she’s got a dozen kids sellin’—they can’t be all hers-and then she’s got the hide to come up to my stand and sell in front of me.... What are you thinkin’ about doin’, Mrs Aspinall?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I really don’t know what to do.”
And there still being some distance to go, she plunged into her tale of misery once more, not forgetting the length of time she had dealt with her creditors.
Bill pushed his hat forward and walked along on the edge of the kerb.
“Can’t you shift? Ain’t you got no people or friends that you can go to for a while?”
“Oh, yes; there’s my sister-in-law; she’s asked me times without number to come and stay with her till things got better, and she’s got a hard enough struggle herself, Lord knows. She asked me again only yesterday.”
“Well, that ain’t too bad,” reflected Bill. “Why don’t you go?”
“Well, you see, if I did they wouldn’t let me take my furniture, and she’s got next to none.”
“Won’t the landlord let you take your furniture?”