It is true that I am one loosely termed impoverished. But I must have cotton. And if my meager funds should allow for it, some silk. Even that acquired from the cast offs of those on Grand Row.
For even in circumstances unfortunate and inconvenient, I must be comfortable and true to myself. My dignity is not tangible but it is mine. My skin must not blush for shame, but for the comfort of fine wool and cashmere. There is no reward for me in mediocrity. It is only in quality, authenticity, and appreciation of craftsmanship, do I gain my sense of purpose, meaning, and being.
So you see, ma’am. I am not impertinent. For I am lowly and poor after all, and cannot afford to be.