( Oh, that's a poppet, loving his breakfast. Bless, but he could use some more thickening, bit of old padding for the winter to come, course, them young'uns always on their feet. This is why the world's gone wrong, done and dusted. For all the bustle and the hustle.

Clicking her tongue, she circles the stove a heartbeat longer, starting more fat to its sizzle and a fresh round of cakes for the other children. They'll wake soon, all loud and hungry, and isn't that so? It's how they always are. )

No, no, biscuit, got it wrong there. Don't you worry, you'll be finding it all out on the road, it's their little tins and hobs and their metal trinkets, for all them clocks. That's what they're all so... ( My, but it's there, on the tip of'er tongue, the curse. Not today, temptation. ) Fussed about. Oh, but we don't care, none of it for us, not down'ere. And what good do fancy things do the heart? Is about family, life.