W. Pett Ridge

“ She closed the front door gently, and, once out of the gate, ran with great swiftness, her heels clattering on the pavement of the silent road. About five minutes took her into Queen's Road, and, as she stood there breathless in the lighted thoroughfare, a tram went by—a tram from New Cross to Waterloo. She felt hastily in her pocket, and found some coppers.
"Now then, kinductor!" said Mord Em'ly, as she swung herself on the platform of the tram. "Why don't you pull up when you see a lady like me 'ailing of you?" ”

“ They would always rather see a man dance intricate steps than watch furious whirling by girls; and damsels at the Mont, who kicked high and kicked often, and made themselves breathless in the effort, found their last ambitious skip received with casual interest; the hall allowed them to go in glum silence, with sometimes a few derisive whistles. If you were late, the best twopenny seats were occupied, but Mord Em'ly's trick was calculated to meet the difficulty. ”

“ What's the use of bragging about your misfortunes?"
"Well, Laura," explained the youngest sister, a little disappointed, "the idea is this. There is sorrow and there is misfortune in the world, and it is only natural that they should be written about."
"But why 'arp on the question?" demanded Mord Em'ly. "That's my argument. Why make a song about it? This place ain't too lively as it is."
"You'll get used to it, after a bit," said the youngest sister, as she went to the doorway of the kitchen. "It's only at first that you find it strange." She sighed a little. "I find it dull myself sometimes. ”