It is here that Annie was in her environment. Though she had dressed up, she was a stocky mess. Her hat was tied snugly under her chin, but it could not hide her bruised face and black eye. Many layers of flannel petticoats stank, but they kept her warm. Two bodices increased her stout figure. That black bonnet made her look shorter, but her boots compensated and gave her a little height. Her stained apron flounced around as she sashayed about. It kept the grime of the street from her black dress. Not much white showed. Her black jacket came to her knees, and this evening she had it buttoned. The brightest thing on her was her neckerchief. It had a jaunty tie in it, with a flashy red border. She couldn’t appear too respectable and just be one of the poor of the poor. She was now at 47 a pathetic sight, her left lower jaw gaunt from the absence of teeth, her winking black eye not so inviting. She was a very middle-aged catch for the night. . . and she wasn’t too successful.
Posted on: Sun, 11 Aug 2013 15:32:08 +0000
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