“Eighteen - eighteen something? Perhaps twenty? I don’t know.”

Now she looks embarrassed. “It is hard to keep track, Sir, when there ain’t nothing changing. I - well, I suppose it is obvious that -“
She takes a breath to steel herself, utterly ashamed. She hates that she had no money, no home, was dirt. She hates to admit her lack of knowledge.

“Well, dates didn’t matter so much, only to stay alive. But you? You do not look like the men I know at home, not any of them. Your time is different to mine, no?”