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left the chainshop she was freezing cold in the raw December air which penetrated her thin shawl. It was a world of constant noise and blistered hands, as she hammered as if to save her life, trying to shut out the screeching of Ma Higgins, who exhorted her to 'Gerron wi' it, Miss Toffeenose, no time fer yer fancy notions 'ere.'
    The only comfort which had crept into this second life of Anna's was provided by the extra money. She now bought an extra booster each day, and quite often there was enough of the big loaf left to be made into a delicious bread pudding, which her mother cooked in the oven at the side of the fire. The cold bread pudding was cut into thick slabs to be taken to work by herself and her Dad. She had also been able to buy a piece of beef every Friday since she had been going to High Cedars, and knowing her parents were enjoying a good dinner on Saturdays and Sundays made her feel less guilty. For Anna certainly suffered from guilt, as being waited on hand and foot still did not seem quite right. The staff at High Cedars treated her as they would any other guest, although they knew her background. On one occasion when the upstairs maid brought hot water, Anna had attempted to engage her in conversation, saying that she was not used to being served. The maid had smiled quite openly and then had said simply, 'Then I should enjoy it, if I were you,' without any hint of rancour.
    Although she endeavoured to enjoy it, Anna couldn't help but feel it was unfair for some to have so much and others so little. It was not her own situation which weighed on her mind, but that of several of her neighbours who lived in the most abject poverty. She often reflected on these contrasts as she sat huddled in a corner of the canal barge, as it made its slow progress back to Sandley Heath on Sunday afternoon. She was not envious by nature, and told herself repeatedly that everyone couldn't be bosses, but there was one aspect of life at High Cedars which she did envy, and it had nothing to do with material possessions.
    Everyone seemed to know so much, and about so many different things. Anna's mother had always been proud that her daughter was intelligent, and had done so well at school. Despite George Gibson's protests that 'the wench should be bringin' in,' she had insisted that Anna stay at school until she completed Standard seven, and had been proud to watch her daughter ascend the platform to receive her book prize at the end of term. Largely because of her mother's influence, Anna had been accustomed to think of herself as having had a better education than her colleagues, but at High Cedars she was out of her depth. She would listen avidly to the conversation around the dinner table, being persuaded by first one argument and then another, until she hardly knew what she thought.
    Florence Nicholson was a witness to Anna's confusion. Having been married for so many years to a man who was both an industrialist and an artist, Florence now enjoyed the friendship of a wide variety of people, whose opinions ranged from the strictly traditional to the most enlightened liberal. After her guests were gone she would often talk to Anna about the evening's conversation, discussing and explaining points which Anna had missed or misconstrued. As much as Anna enjoyed these evenings, they served as a forcible reminder of her own lack of knowledge.
    After Christmas had come and gone with a succession of icy cold mornings and searching bitter winds, Anna found she had saved enough for a long craved personal indulgence, a pair of boots from the leather and shoe shop in Dudley, and some thick knitted stockings. Florence had provided her with some good leather shoes which were ideal for High Cedars, but Anna was loth to ruin them in the mire of Sandley Heath, and so left them in the wardrobe at High Cedars, with the other clothes Florence had provided. When Will called one evening in late January he was quick with praise for the boots.
    'I'm