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'Oo, 'e do do 'e, ma'am! What does that dirty ole German want to be givin' us orders for, where we oughter be, nasty ole man.'

'I don't know what their wives are doing. That is a man's country where women seem to have no rights at all. The men shave their heads in the most disgusting way; they don't mind what they look like. If my husband shaved his head I would sue for divorce on the spot!'

'Nasty ole man!' Mrs. Harradson barked: and it was not clear whether she was referring to Professor Harding or to 'That Other Man', except that her employer did not belong to that evil category, which she classified invariably as 'nasty ole men'.

After a little more desultory conversation about the political scene, the lot of women, and the arbitrary behaviour of men generally, especially those that rang the front-door bell, Essie strolled away into the sitting-room, the Daily Telegraph and an illustrated tabloid in her hand. She propped herself upon cushions on the settee and plunged into the tabloid. It was not long before she heard Mrs. Harradson at work in the large 'cooking' and 'eating' room; there was also a piano there and she could hear her dusting the keys. Essie read in the tabloid how a woman had gone into a neighbour's house about ten in the morning for a nice chat and had not returned till the afternoon. She discovered her two children both dead: they had swallowed all her aspirin tablets, which she had left by the side of her bed. Essie reflected how careless the lower classes were, and yawned. Mrs. Harradson's voice was heard in the next room, furiously apostrophizing someone as she scrubbed the sink.