He saw a girl working about the stove, saw that she carried a baby on
her crooked arm, and that the baby was nursing, its head up under the
girląs shirtwaist. And the girl moved about, poking the fire,
shifting the rusty stove lids to make a better draft, opening the oven
door; and all the time the baby sucked, and the mother shifted it
deftly from arm to arm. The baby didnąt interfere with her work or
with the quick gracefulness of her movements.
‹John Steinbeck. The Grapes of Wrath. Chapter 21