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But it's God's truth, my lady, 'e dunna want no beer, dunna Master Noll, to mak 'im 'it like the kick of a 'oss. I on'y brought 'im a few daceys up t'ouse this mawnin', an' " "You row harder, Joe, and yawp less," said I, interrupting him. "Between you and Jane I shan't have a rag of character left." "Sup o' beer in him," he growled, and spat loudly on his hands.
Joe knew me. He said, "There's a jack as big as a gate-post in that 'ole between the reeds along th' 'igh bonk." He saw the cock of my eye, and went on: "I saw 'im this mornin', an' 'eard 'im. 'E made a splosh like a sack o' taters droppin' off the bridge. So I just copped 'e a few daceys, thinkin' as you'd be sure to go after 'im."
Jane yelped as I murdered an incipient kiss by knocking the jug out of his hand across the kitchen, but in kicking him out of doors I tripped over a bucket of water, and about half a score fine dace flopped miserably on the wet floor. "Dunna carry on a' that'n, Master Noll," said Joe. "I only com' up t'ouse to bring you them daceys." "And what the devil do I want with them?" said I angrily.
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