fet-fragment01 242
Anyway , there I was , going up this endless corridor , thinking what to do about the mother , who blamed herself — wi' reason mind you , she was one of those soft suckering witch-women , but that made it worse , not better — and there was th' trolley wi' the dead girl on it , sliding by me — sheet right over , porters in those soft theatre boots and floppy plastic bathcaps — and when they 'd got past me and were turning i n't door , the first one looked at me from under his plastic frills like , with my own face .