W. Pett Ridge

“ Approaching they found that a meadow had been lent for the day to an excursion party of girls from London, and, as the girls from the Home marched past the low hedge separating the meadow from the roadway, they watched, from the corners of their eyes, the Londoners, who, hysterical with delight at finding themselves in novel environments, were shrieking, and dancing, and rushing, and fighting, and, to the music of the brass instruments, singing popular songs.
"That's what I call life," whispered Ronicker; "that's worth doing, that is. ”

“ Talk sense."
"I am a-talking sense," declared Ronicker. "It's all very well for you, Mord Em'ly; you ain't tried it yet. But you'll feel jest as awk'ard and jest as miserable when you make a start as I did. Worse than you did at Peckham, I lay."
"You don't think that, do you, really?" asked Mord Em'ly nervously.
"I don't think nothing at all about it," said Ronicker acutely; "I know!"
"But all places ain't the same."
"Granted," said Ronicker drily. "Some are worse than others. I daresay I got 'old of one of the best."
"But how is it, then, that a lot of the girls get on all right? ”

“ She found herself getting out of her small camp bedstead at night, to peep through the blinds, and to watch a clumsy, over-grown goods train which went blunderingly and noisily along at about a certain hour, every truck in a temper with its neighbour, with sometimes a set fight between all when the engine tried to check them. ”