The sun shone through the cracks in the rotten woodwork full of bent rusty nails, and from time to time a dirty stream issued from beneath the gate, and disappeared into the gutter.
She stopped a moment as she heard her mother's righteous indignation venting itself within, in the familiar, dry, measured tones; and it was hesitatingly and with a depressed look that she opened the gate, behind which stood Mrs.Andersen's servant-maid, furiously red, and incapable of defending herself, while Mrs.Holman, her skirts fastened up, and her feet astride over the gutter-board, was rinsing and wringing out clothes.

She was working calmly and deliberately; nothing in her cold grey eyes betrayed agitation.
"Mrs.Andersen ought at least to have the good sense to understand that clothes that had been used so long couldn't be got ready in one week.
For that matter, you're welcome to tell her so from me.

And I haven't been accustomed either, even in my humble position, to send clothes to the wash not patched or mended; and I can tell you that both Mother Nilsen next door and the people in this house have wondered to see the things that a person, who calls herself a chandler's wife, lets her husband and children wear! No, you needn't contradict me, my good girl; when I say a thing, it's the truth.

And the stockings--we'll say nothing about them; for one heel was gathered up with a piece of twine, so that it was a disgrace to stand and wash them.

People may look as high and mighty as they like--the wash speaks out!" With slow, crushing significance she turned to her daughter.
"If you had come a little sooner, Silla, you might have saved me a great deal of work.