"I’m not the sort as wears those sort of clothes," ’Possum burst out at last.  "I’m just a workin’ hand, same as a man: this old dungaree’s my style, not lovely things like that.  It’s no good me thinkin’ I could pretend I was a lady—an’ them’s only a lady’s things."  Her voice broke, and she stood staring at her rough boots.