Oh, silly billy, how's me to know? They're there, somewhere.

( This, spoken with the same carefree disinterest typically reserved for matters of great commerce, legislation or taxation. There's a limit to how much a woman should spare of her attentions for those things she can't alter, and she's learned hers long ago.

The day's passably bright, petrol lamps' burn deepening. The children will be wanting their breakfast, soon enough. )

Is all of it the trouble of people upstairs. We should all be minding our business, I think. Makes us kinder.

( And generous and polite and fond. All the virtues hail from discretion. ) Now, what be your doings here, poppet? Afraid our common friend wouldn't be loosening his lips long, when he spoke. Always so busy, him. Can't be helped, can it? Man must make his wages. 'Merchantry' is all so complicated...