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'By my sowkins, says Nell, 'it's bad enough we are, your raverence, says she, 'for it's poor Jim's sperit, says she; 'God rest his sowl, wherever it is, says she, 'that was wandherin' up an' down, opossite the door all night, says she, 'in the way it was no use at all, thryin' to get a wink iv sleep, says she. 'It's to lay it, you want me, I suppose, says the priest.
'Och, by the hoky, says Jim, 'it's too long I'm makin' a fool iv mysilf, gostherin' wid you outside iv my own door, says he, 'for it's plain to be seen, says he, 'you don't know what your're sayin', an' no one ELSE knows what you mane, you unforthunate fool, says he; 'so, onst for all, open the door quietly, says he, 'or, by my sowkins, I'll not lave a splinther together, says he.
'Oh! by my sowkins, says the priest, 'it'll be the quarest ghost in the siven parishes, says he, 'if it has the courage to come back, says he, 'afther what I'll do this mornin', plase God, says he; 'so we'll say twelve pounds; an' God knows it's chape enough, says he, 'considherin' all the sarcumstances, says he.
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