The time must be
short. And afterwards? This question drove Cuckoo out in the mornings,
vaguely seeking an occupation. She knew that London was full of "good"
girls, who went forth to work while she lay in bed in the morning, and
came home to tea, and one boiled egg and watercress, when she started out
in the evening. So she put on her hat and jacket and went forth to find
out what work they did, and whether she could join in it. Those were
variegated pilgrimages full of astonishment. Cuckoo would stroll along
the road till she saw, perhaps, a girl who looked good--that is, as
unlike herself as possible--descend into the frost, or the mud from a
bus. Then she would dog the footsteps of this girl, find out where she
went, with a view of deducing from it what she did. In this manner she
once came to a sewing-machine shop in Praed Street, on the trail of a
bright-looking stranger, who walked gaily as to pleasant toil. Cuckoo
remained outside while the stranger went in and disappeared. She examined
the window--rows of sewing-machines, beyond them the dressed head of a
woman in a black silk gown. What did the stranger do here to gain a
living, and that bright smile of hers? Suddenly Cuckoo walked into the
shop and up to the lady with the dressed head.
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