A WOMAN of Undetermined age is standing in front of the doors of the Institute of your girls about to knock.
Gloomy, the clouds were gray and the grass was slightly moist with the morning mist, a basket hanging from your arm, and your tail(almost) between your knees.
On the way a woman, a widow, with three children had stopped you, tears in her eyes explaining that her landlord increased the rent of her house from fourteen to eighteen shillings, she used to pay bias by doing casual laundry cleaning, letting people live with them and others tasks, a whole complex day of work, however, that was no longer enough: You gave her four shillings.
The rough texture of the wood pinched your knuckles until finally, someone opened the door.
When the first one, and then five to ten girls from the(minimal) Medium Class took you into their embrace you didn't protest like usual.
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