They do so love
flowers, poor things and I cannot resist their pathetic entreaties when
they beg for 'One, missus, on'y one!' Some of my lady friends are not
let off so easily as I am. The girls chaff them unmercifully about
their dress and personal peculiarities, and if they show signs of
annoyance they call them names that are not to be repeated. The mill
girls wear bright-coloured gowns, white aprons, and nothing on their
heads. If a policeman catches them at any mischief they either clatter
off in their clogs with shrieks of laughter, or knock him down and kick
him most unmercifully. They are as strong as men, and as beautiful,
some of them, as saints; but they are very unsaintlike creatures
really--irresponsible, and with little or no idea of right and wrong.
One scarcely believes that they have souls--and I am always surprised
to find that anything not cruel and coarse can survive in the hearts of
people, begrimed, body and mind, like these, by their hard
surroundings; but it is there, nevertheless--the human nature, and the
poetry, and the something ready to thrill to better things.
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