Her home is in the basement, so that the view is restricted to the lower
half of persons passing overhead beyond the area stairs. Here at the
window Mrs. Dowey sometimes sits of a summer evening gazing, not
sentimentally at a flower-pot which contains one poor bulb, nor
yearningly at some tiny speck of sky, but with unholy relish at holes in
stockings, and the like, which are revealed to her from her point of
vantage. You, gentle reader, may flaunt by, thinking that your finery
awes the street, but Mrs. Dowey can tell (and does) that your soles are
in need of neat repair.

Also, lower parts being as expressive as the face to those whose view is
thus limited, she could swear to scores of the passers-by in a court of
law.

These four lively old codgers are having a good time at the tea-table,
and wit is flowing free. As you can see by their everyday garments, and
by their pails and mops (which are having a little tea-party by
themselves in the corner), it is not a gathering by invitations
stretching away into yesterday, it is a purely informal affair; so much
more attractive, don't you think? than banquets elaborately prearranged.
You know how they come about, especially in war-time. Very likely Mrs.
Dowey met Mrs. Twymley and Mrs. Mickleham quite casually in the street,
and meant to do no more than the time of day; then, naturally enough,
the word camouflage was mentioned, and they got heated, but in the end
Mrs. Twymley apologised; then, in the odd way in which one thing leads
to another, the winkle man appeared, and Mrs. Dowey remembered that she
had that pot of jam and that Mrs. Mickleham had stood treat last time;
and soon they were all three descending the area stairs, followed
cringingly by the Haggerty Woman.