Got an observer, I see," he added, jerking his grizzled chin at the dragoman. "Strike me, it's the good old dyes o' the Gryte Skirmish over agyne." "Is this," asked the Angel, whose mouth was already black with bilberries, "the dialect of rural England?" "I will interrogate him, sir," said his dragoman, "for in truth I am at a loss to account for the presence of a man in the country."
'We got a gryte deal to do with our wyges, we women has. We got the children to think about. And w'en we get our rights, a woman's flesh and blood won't be so much cheaper than a man's that employers can get rich on keepin' you out o' work and sweatin' us. If you men only could see it, we got the syme cause, and if you 'elped us you'd be 'elpin' yerselves. 'Rot! 'True as gospel! some one said.