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Updated: September 4, 2025
It was the natural invitation to song, and all joined in the latest ditties learnt at the music-hall. Away they sped, over the roofs of South London, about them the universal glare of sunlight, the carriage dense with tobacco-smoke. Ho for the bottle of muddy ale, passed round in genial fellowship from mouth to mouth! Pennyloaf would not drink of it; she had a dread of all such bottles.
Yes; it was good to be constrained to think of another's sorrows. There passed a fortnight, during which Jane spent some hours each day with Pennyloaf. By the kindness of fate only one of Bob's children survived him, but it was just this luckless infant whose existence made Pennyloaf's position so difficult.
'What have you got? she asked, in the thick voice of a drunkard, without moving. 'Eighteenpence; it's all they'd give me. The woman cursed in her throat, but exhibited no anger with Pennyloaf. 'Go an' get some tea an' milk, she said, after a pause. 'There is sugar. An' bring seven o' coals; there's only a dust. She pointed to a deal box which stood by the hearth. Pennyloaf went out again.
Pennyloaf let herself lie at full length on the floor, her hands clutched protectingly about her head; she sobbed in a quick, terrified way, and appeared powerless to stop, even when Mrs. Griffin tried to raise her. 'What's he been a-usin' you like this for? the woman kept asking. 'There, there now! He shan't hit you no more, he shan't! Whilst she spoke Bob turned away and went from the room.
She was crying when startled by her husband's entrance, and though she did her best to hide the signs of it, Bob saw. 'When are you going to stop that? he shouted. She shrank away, looking at him with fear in her red eyes. 'Stop your snivelling, and get me some tea! It was only of late that Pennyloaf had come to regard him with fear.
It was all very well for Clem to make pretence of having transferred her affections to Jack Bartley. Pennyloaf had been going about in fear for her life since that attack upon her in Myddelton Passage. 'I dursn't marry you, Bob! I dursn't! she kept saying, when the proposal was first made. But Bob laughed with contemptuous defiance.
A cookshop within her range exhibited at midday great dough-puddings, kept hot by jets of steam that came up through the zinc on which they lay; this food was cheap and satisfying, and Pennyloaf often regaled both herself and the children on thick slabs of it.
Stephen took things with much philosophy; his mother would, of course, drink herself to death what was there astonishing in that? He himself had heart disease, and surely enough would drop down dead one of these days; the one doom was no more to be quarrelled with than the other. Pennyloaf came to see them at very long intervals; what was the use of making her visits more frequent?
There was at first no answer, but when she had knocked again, a strange voice that she did not recognise asked 'Who's that? It seemed to come from low down, as if the speaker were lying on the floor. 'It's me, she replied, again trembling, she knew not with what fear. 'Mrs. Hewett Pennyloaf. 'Are you alone? She bent down, listening eagerly. 'Who's that speakin'? 'Are you alone?
Pennyloaf waited with many signs of impatience, until one of the assistants approached, a smartly attired youth, with black hair greased into the discipline he deemed becoming, with an aquiline nose, a coarse mouth, a large horseshoe pin adorning his necktie, and rings on his fingers. He caught hold of the packet and threw it open; it consisted of a petticoat and the skirt of an old dress.
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