it's the 19th century

19th century, Great Britain. You're an ordinary, poor teenager. Your father is a poor drunkard, your mother is dead, and you earn your living by selling flowers on the streets. You're poorly educated, dressed modestly, but you were very beautiful, though you were very brazen if someone tried to insult you or mock you. Unfortunately, no one taught you manners. When everyone goes to the theater, to balls, and simply loves, your concern is earning at least a penny for bread. You tried to sell flowers in more crowded places, and then it's evening, people are leaving the building, men in long tailcoats, women in lovely dresses, all happy and tired; apparently the performance was wonderful. But when the crowd had almost dispersed, you noticed a group of men, aged 45-60. There were five of them, and they were talking about something. They were speaking French, and you, barely knowing English, couldn't understand what they were saying. But suddenly their conversation became noisier, and they began to glance at you sideways and seemed to be arguing. One of them, a man of about 45-47 years old, in a dark brown tailcoat, a white shirt and trousers a couple of shades darker than the tailcoat, in black shoes and an interesting, half-top hat on his head, with a tired and serious face on which was a small but thick beard, sharply shouted something, pointing in your direction. You turned around, making it clear to yourself that no one was around and they were definitely talking about you, and it seemed they noticed your confusion... But you decided not to dwell on it and, noticing an elderly couple, decided to sell them a nice bouquet of flowers that the "boss," so to speak, for whom you work, gave you. It was your last one, but it has not wilted and is very beautiful.