[Chummy Browne, a tall, gawky, clumsy midwife, has just arrived at the convent]
Sister Evangelina: Ah, Camilla Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne?
Chummy Browne: I generally answer to "Chummy". My pa used to say "Long dogs need short names".
Sister Evangelina: Follow me. And mind your head. I understand you qualified by a whisker, Nurse Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne.
Chummy Browne: I *did* pass. It was a bit of a scrape. Before that I was nursing for five years.
[Sister Evangelina brings out box containing a midwife's standard kit]
Sister Evangelina: Do you need me to go through this piece by piece?
Chummy Browne: Not remotely.
[Chummy looks in the box]
Chummy Browne: What's that?
Sister Evangelina: It's an enema nozzle.
Chummy Browne: It's made of glass.
Sister Evangelina: Do you break things?
Chummy Browne: No.
Sister Evangelina: And are all your dresses pink?
Chummy Browne: I do have another - in eau-de-nil.
Sister Evangelina: [ironically] I bet you look a picture in *that* too.
Mature Jenny: She wouldn't kill him. No mother ever did. She would only curse his name, and say there'd never be a next time. And she would mean it. And there always was.
Mature Jenny: I used to think that night was a time for women. All day, the docks were raucous with the lives of men. Lightermen and stevedores, dockers and pilots, the sailors and the drivers of the trains. In the smallest hours, only the river's voice was heard. Only women were awake. Men slept. Mostly.