Esther stood, too. She felt she was shorter and less tidy: more beautiful though.
Two women across the tailor-shop, seeing each other.
"I came for my husband's—for Mr. Breddan's dress suit. Mr. Lanich told him it would be ready at seven?"
Esther Lanich moved, Sophie Breddan stood. Between slow dark curve, swift dark stroke of these two women, under a tailor's table the burn of a dirty child, mumbling intent with scizzors between her soiled frail legs, at play with loose hair.
"Is this the one?"
The curve and the stroke came near across the table.
"Yes."
Eyes met.—She is tidy and fresh, less beautiful, though, than I. She has no child. She has a flat with Sun and a swell husband who wears a swallow-tail and takes her out to parties. She has a diamond ring, her corsets are sweet. She has things to put into her time like candies into her mouth, like loved kisses into my mouth. She is all new with her smooth skin going below the collar of her suit.
—She has a child, and she lets her play dirty with scizzors under a tailor table. "How much is it?"—After a decent bedtime.
—Does she think I care about this? "Oh, no hurry. Better come in and pay my—Mr. Lanich. Any time."