I
could tell that as far as Rank was concerned, she needn’t have bothered. The
bright red hair that peeked out of her bonnet, her almost flat physique, and
the large freckles on her face certainly did not conform to the ideals of
beauty of the day. I was a little more curious about her, particularly about why
she was there. I watched while she set her basket down on the seat next to her
and fidgeted it into place.
“Aren’t
you a little early to peddle your wares, dear?” Rank said, eyes askance. “Lunch
isn’t for an hour yet.”
The
girl didn’t answer but drew herself up even more distantly. She cut her eyes at
Rank under lowered lids, sniffed, and looked away.
“Whatever
you’re selling, I’ll buy some,” I said amiably. “I haven’t had anything since
five A.M. myself.”
“I am not selling anything,” she answered stiffly. Her accent was Irish; not fresh off the boat, I reckoned, but second generation at best. “I am here for a job.”
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