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"H'I'd die before h'I'd h'eat 'is bloomin' victuals," snarled Jarvis contemptuously, "that bloomin' 'eathen!" He began poking about the narrow confines of the jail. Not being able to see to suit himself, he struck a match and touched it to the mass, placed on the edge of a brimming seal-oil lamp, in lieu of a wick.
Celestine 'ere she pull aff your beeg Dutch stockin'. Dey no belong you, sure. Colette, push heem chair near for de lady. Hippolyte, put couple steeks now on ze fire. Mees, I 'ope you mak' yourself to home now. Monsieur Hugo, you stop for to h'eat a bite vid us. Ve haf' in de shed still one big quarter from de orignal, de beeg mose vat my man he shoot two veeks ago.
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