John: Rosie, what do you mean?
Rosie: I’d never of done it, if it ’adn’t been for you. I’ve ’eard yer. Talkin’!... “What ’arm is there in it?” “Why shouldn’t a girl ’ave a good time?” Next time you tell her that, you tell ’er what’ll ’appen to ’er.
John: ... Is he anybody you could marry?
Rosie: ’E’s married.
John: Oh!
Rosie: I’m frightened. I am, straight. (She stares at them, in vague terror.) You’re ’elpless; you know what I mean: you go into the next room, and it’s everywhere; you can’t get away from it. (Her look seems to hypnotise them; they can find no words. She continues:) It’s bad enough when you’re married, and ’ave a ’usband to look after yer; and yer mother’s pleased.... I can’t never tell my mother. I can’t tell nobody.
Gwen: You’ve told us.
Rosie: Oh, it’s all right for you, miss—you don’t know. You can’t do nothing. I went to a chemist w’ot ’e told me of—a long way off it was, on a tram—and they as good as kicked me out. Then I goes to a doctor; I ’as to go alone. I rings the bell, and the man w’ot opened the door, ’e looked at me—’e seemed to know; and the doctor said ’e couldn’t do nothing. It’s finished me.
John: Let’s go upstairs. We’ll be quieter there.
Rosie: I’ve got t’go and ’elp cook. That Florence is out.