COOK. Well! You are sharp! [Opening another dresser drawer] Here's
the vinegar! And here's the sweets, and [rather anxiously] you mustn't
eat them.
FAITH. I wasn't in for theft.
COOK. [Shocked at such rudimentary exposure of her natural misgivings]
No, no! But girls have appetites.
FAITH. They didn't get much chance where I've been.
COOK. Ah! You must tell me all about it. Did you have adventures?
FAITH. There isn't such a thing in a prison.
COOK. You don't say! Why, in the books they're escapin' all the time.
But books is books; I've always said so. How were the men?
FAITH. Never saw a man--only a chaplain.
COOK. Dear, dear! They must be quite fresh to you, then! How long was
it?
FAITH. Two years.
COOK. And never a day out? What did you do all the time? Did they
learn you anything?
FAITH. Weaving. That's why I hate it.
COOK. Tell me about your poor little baby. I'm sure you meant it for
the best.
FAITH. [Sardonically] Yes; I was afraid they'd make it a ward in
Chancery.
COOK. Oh! dear--what things do come into your head! Why! No one can
take a baby from its mother.
FAITH. Except the Law.
COOK. Tt! Tt! Well! Here's the pickled onions.
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