“I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning. "Ah!" ejaculated Mrs. ‘That’s not much comfort. “My word holds,” she said. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. “I tell my Mom everything. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry.
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