( She's a right old fox, is Ma'am Mariol, least she once was. Now, ragged and callused and a smile draining down the corners of her mouth, she's bustling, busy as a bonny bee, trailing after her horde of found children.
Most do honest work, toil she's taken trouble to vet, for their own health. They earn their coin, and give it for the family dinner, and she earns more from laundering and stitchwork, and so it goes. Another day in the Mouse House, another breath in her little claustrophobic haven.
And now they've got company, and in her makeshift jolly kitchen, pans and jar of grease and scarcity of coals for the hearth fire, this one — this young man who's stumbled upon her, he looks larger than the world. )
Right... right you are, have yerself a sit... no, not there, little one's had'imself a fit there... ( She waves to the left with a large, chipped pan, towards — ) Oh, not the stool, dear heart, the baby's left her rag dollie... ( Another wave, this time, this time — ) Oh, he'll be cross if you ruin'is chalk drawing, oh, he's painted a pupper this time in the dust, look at'im, got his whiskers! Isn't that sweet? Sweet as a lamb, he'll be a proper artist, when he's all grown, you watch, you see'im, we'll be reading about him in the papers, we will. Won't turn his head when we be crossing the street to see us, since he'll be himself a gentleman o'sorts, but I'll know... right... well, maybe the...
( At long last, her pointing pan lands on a great, heaving heap of... dubiously clean blankets, battered and wrinkled but passably assembled into a... nest. All the better to serve a man sitting down. )
You sit right there, poppet, that's your spot. I'll have me a little look at you, oh, bless, you're so tall, ain't you? So handsome.
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( She's a right old fox, is Ma'am Mariol, least she once was. Now, ragged and callused and a smile draining down the corners of her mouth, she's bustling, busy as a bonny bee, trailing after her horde of found children.
Most do honest work, toil she's taken trouble to vet, for their own health. They earn their coin, and give it for the family dinner, and she earns more from laundering and stitchwork, and so it goes. Another day in the Mouse House, another breath in her little claustrophobic haven.
And now they've got company, and in her makeshift jolly kitchen, pans and jar of grease and scarcity of coals for the hearth fire, this one — this young man who's stumbled upon her, he looks larger than the world. )
Right... right you are, have yerself a sit... no, not there, little one's had'imself a fit there... ( She waves to the left with a large, chipped pan, towards — ) Oh, not the stool, dear heart, the baby's left her rag dollie... ( Another wave, this time, this time — ) Oh, he'll be cross if you ruin'is chalk drawing, oh, he's painted a pupper this time in the dust, look at'im, got his whiskers! Isn't that sweet? Sweet as a lamb, he'll be a proper artist, when he's all grown, you watch, you see'im, we'll be reading about him in the papers, we will. Won't turn his head when we be crossing the street to see us, since he'll be himself a gentleman o'sorts, but I'll know... right... well, maybe the...
( At long last, her pointing pan lands on a great, heaving heap of... dubiously clean blankets, battered and wrinkled but passably assembled into a... nest. All the better to serve a man sitting down. )
You sit right there, poppet, that's your spot. I'll have me a little look at you, oh, bless, you're so tall, ain't you? So handsome.