“Ye’re a stranger here,” she said.
“I am, decent woman.”
“Ye’re Irish, too, for I ken by yer talk,” said the female. “And ye’ve got into trouble.”
She pointed at the girl with a long, crooked finger, and Norah blushed.
“Dinna be ashamed of it,” said the woman; then turning to Maudie Stiddart she enquired: “And ye’re here too, are ye? I thought ye were dead long ago? Jesus! but some people can stick it out. There’s no killin’ of ’em!”
“Oh, ye’re a blether, Mary Martin,” said Maudie, turning the chop over on the stove. “Where are ye workin’ now?”
“On the free coup outside Glesga.”
“The free coup?” asked the young girl who had just left prison, lighting a cigarette. “What’s that atall?”
“The place to where the dung and dust and dirt of a town is carried away and throwed down,” Mary Martin explained. “Sometimes lumps of coal and pieces of metal are flung down there. These I pick up and sell to people and that’s how I make my livin’.”
“Is that how you do?” asked the girl with a shrug of her shoulders.