For days she would disappear altogether, and then renew the conversation by coughing gently on her side of the fence.

This morning her lip was shaven, and she leaned over the fence, full of gossip.

But Ada's sullen face caught her eye, and instantly she was full of sympathy, a peculiar look of falsity shining in her light blue eyes.
"Why, what's the matter, dearie ?" she inquired.
"Oh, nuthin'," said Ada roughly.
"Ah, you mustn't tell me that! When my poor husband was alive, I've often looked in my glass and seen a face like that.

He was my husband, and I suppose I should say no more, but men never brought any happiness to me or any other woman that I know of.

The first day I set eyes on you, I said, 'That's an unhappy woman.'" "Well, yer needn't tell the bloomin' street," growled Ada.
"What you want is love and sympathy, but I suppose your husband is too busy making money to spare the time for that.