human
Felice out of Cherbourg was not much to look at, but none the less she was a lady of virtue and of good intention. Her engines had lost the sweet voice of youth through long argument and bitter contest with the stern affronts of life. Where once they had hummed and purred now they racketed and nagged, but they got through the work none the less well on that account. The life of a fish wife hardens the temperament and loosens the tongue and the
gpt
Felice was no exception to the rule. A plain, strident, powerful old woman bucketing through calm and trouble with the same reproach for either. The
human
Felice wore rusty black--coarse and patched. She had long ago forsaken her girlish waist band of royal blue esteeming such fallals better suited to the children of the fleet. She was a no-nonsense lady, one of the