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Penrose, they were givin' th' "Messiah" at Edge End. Eh! dear, Enoch, sighed the old woman, stopping short in her story, 'it's thirty year sin' come next Kesmas. 'Yi, lass, it is. There's some snow fallen sin' then. 'There hes that, an' we've bed our share and o'. But, as I wor tellin' yo', Mr.
'Yi, lad; He will, forsure. 'An' haa long does He keep 'em in when He gets 'em theer? Till to-morn t'neet? 'Longer lad. 'Till Kesmas? 'Yi, lad. 'Longer nor Kesmas? 'Yi, lad. But ne'er heed. Here's summat to eat. Sithee, I baked thee a pasty. 'I noan want th' pasty, gronny. I want to yer abaat th' hoile. Haa long does God keep bad fo'k in it? 'Ey, lad. I wish thaa'd hooisht!
His common-sense, however, and his discretion came to his rescue, and delivered him from a strong temptation to blast the old woman's paradise with a breath of negative criticism. 'There's a grave daan at th' bottom o' th' yard, Mr. Penrose, where th' sunleet rests from morn till neet, an' I've axed Joseph to lay me there, for it's welly awlus warm, and flaars grow from Kesmas to Kesmas.
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