'Eh, I'm main sorry!' cried Hazel. 'But she inna a bad dog, Mrs.
Marston; she's a good fox.'
'According to natural history she may be, but in my sight she's a bad dog.' She shut her door with an air of finality.
'The old lady canna'd abear Foxy,' said Hazel. 'Nobody likes Foxy.'
She was stubbornly determined that the world bore her a grudge because she loved Foxy. Perhaps she had discovered that the world has a sharp sword for the vulnerable, and that love is easily wounded.
'Don't call mother the old lady, dear.'
'Well, she is. And she says animals has got no souls. She'm only got a little small 'un herself.'
'Hazel!'
'Well, it's God's truth.'
'Why?'
'If she'd got a nice tidy bit herself, she'd know Foxy'd got one, too. Now I've got a shimmy with lace on, I know lots of other girls sure to have 'em. Afore I couldna have believed it.'