She was engagingly frank.
"When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said.

"I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there ?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair.

And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge.
"They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last.

"They say I'll be took care of an' looked after.

But I don't want to do it, miss.