She never spoke of marriage; seemed to have given up the idea.
But one day, as he sat with the child on his knees, she stopped in front of the pair, with a bundle of shirts in her arms, and regarded them with a puzzling smile.

The baby lay on its back, staring into space with solemn, unreflective eyes.

From time to time Jonah turned his head to blow the smoke of his cigarette into the air.
"You'll be gittin' too fond of 'im, if y'ain't careful, Joe," she said at last.
"Git work; wot's troublin' yer ?" said Jonah, with a grin.
"Nuthin'; only I was thinkin' wot a fine child 'e'd be in a few years.
It's a pity 'e ain't got no real father." "Wot d'yer mean ?" said Jonah, looking up angrily.

"W'ere do I come in?
Ain't I the bloke ?" "Well, y'are an' y'ain't, yer know," said Mrs Yabsley.

"There's two ways of lookin' at these things." "'Strewth! I niver thought o' that," said Jonah, scratching his ear.
"No, but other people do, worse luck," said Mrs Yabsley.
Jonah stared at the child in silence.