squeak and shuffle

Laundry is done almost daily on my narrow lane in Evora. Across the way, two ladies lean out two separate windows of two separate second floor abodes. I see them rarely, one in her shift not bothering to acknowledge me, the other with a scowl when I first peered out.  The source of the squeaking and shuffling was found to be their lines of laundry set out to dry overnight, the heave-ho of their bare arms as they draw each item in to put away.