Allar umsetingar

i won't move around to one mill after another all my life, and never have anything, no home, and no nothing.

what is on earth's wrong with you?
Sylvia sat up and dried her eyes. Her skirt was wrinkled and her black hair hung in disorder over her forehead. A pin had come out of her imitation lace collar and it had fallen down to catch in the little red buckle at her waist.