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In the surgery Rowcliffe whistled inaudibly. That was indeed a desperate shift. Rowcliffe had turned and was now standing with his back to the fire. He was intensely interested. "Assy Gaale? He would n' coom for Assy's asskin', a man like Greatorex." Mrs. Blenkiron's blood, the blood of the Greatorexes, was up.
He med tall ye 'oo was with yo laasst Soonda oop t' feald in t' girt byre." "Naddy couldn't sae 'oo 't was. Med a been Assy. Med a been yo." "'T wasn' mae, Mr. Greatorex, an' 't was n' Assy. Look yo 'ere. I tall yo Assy's freetened o' yo." "'Oo says she's freetened?" "I saays it. She's thot freetened thot she'd wash yore sweet'eart's dirty cleathes sooner 'n marry yo." "She doesn't wash them?"
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