“I wasn't looking for anyone,” said Fan.
“I thought you was, seeing you standing as if you didn't know where to go, like.”
Fan shook her head, feeling too tired to say anything. She had no friend, no one she knew even in these poor tenements, and only wished to rest a little there out of sight of the passing people. The woman was still standing still, but not watching her.
“Maybe you're waiting for someone?” she suggested.
“No.”
“No? you're not.” And after a further interval she began studying the little loosely-wrapped parcel in her hand; and finally, with slow deliberation, she unfolded it. It contained a bloater: she felt it carefully as though to make sure that it had a soft roe, and then smelt it to make sure that it was good, after which she slowly wrapped it up again. “Maybe you've no home to go to,” she remarked tentatively, looking away from Fan as if speaking to some imaginary person.
“No, I haven't,” said Fan.
“You don't look a bad 'un. P'r'aps they treated you badly and you ran away.”
Fan nodded.
“And you've no place to go to, and no money?”