One evening Nell came in from school, and as she took off her hat before the bit of glass on the kitchen wall, could see the reflection of Ivy munching her tea, which she had started late, after a day’s washing. Her sleeves were still rolled up, showing her strong arms, white as milk to the elbow, then brown as a rye-bread crust. Her meadow-green dress was unbuttoned, as if to give her big breast play, and her neck was thick and white, its modelling shown by bluish shadows. “She’s a whacker!” thought Nell angrily to herself, then suddenly turned round and said—
“Jerry Sumption’s here.”
“Lork!” said Ivy, biting off a crust.
“I met him,” continued Nell, “and he knows you’re going with Seagrim.”
“Well, wot if he does?”
“It might be awkward for you. He seemed very much upset about it.”
“Wot fur dud you go and tell un?”
Nell sniffed.
“I didn’t tell him. But your love-making isn’t exactly private.”
“No need fur it to be.”