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Updated: May 7, 2025
"'T is for you to speak, not me. What be you gwaine to do, an' when be you gwaine to do it? I allow you've bested me, God knaws how; but you've got me down. So the sooner you say what your next step is, the better." The older man laughed. "'T isn't the beaten party makes the terms as a rule." "I want no terms; I wouldn't make terms with you for a sure plaace in heaven.
Look yo I could have a hole knocked through t' back wall o' t' kitchen and a winder put there and roon oop a wooden partition and make a passage for yo t' goa to yore awn plaace, soa's Maaggie'll not bae in yore road." "You needn't. I like it best as it is." "Do yo? D'yo mind thot Soonda yo caame laasst year? Yo've aassked mae whan it was I started thinkin' of yo. It was than.
"Weist an' ailin', poor crittur weist an' ailin'. Dree times her've a-been through the galvanic battery, an' might zo well whistle. Turble lot o' zickness about. An' old Miss Ruby's resaigned, an' a new postmistress come in her plaäce a tongue-tight pore crittur, an' talks London.
Theer they be, even to a furry-cloth, as none doan't ever use nowadays, though my mother did, and thot well on't. So I did tu. 'Tis just a bit o' crimson red tailor's cloth to cover the soft plaace 'pon a lil baaby's head 'fore the bones of en graw together. An' I reckon 'tis better to have it then not.
The master of Middle Hemyll speedily enlightened him, and the visitor learned that not only did he speak to the possessor of the cow-byre, but that Farmer Ford was a keen supporter of art, and would be happy to rent his outhouse for a moderate consideration. "The land ban't under pasture now, an' the plaace ed'n much used just this minute, so you'm welcome if you mind to.
If I smoked 'bacco some night I should set my plaace afire, 'stead o' just rolling up a bit o' stoof and clapping it in my mooth." "I don't know what you mean, Dave," cried Dick. "Then I'll tell'ee, lad. Some un got smoking his pipe in one of they stables, and set it afire." "No, no; some one must have set fire to the stacks." "Nay!" cried Dave, staring in the lad's face with his jaw dropped.
We've bin walking out ever sinst the day he came after your pläace as looker here, and we'd be married now if he hadn't his old mother and dad to keep, and got into some nasty silly trouble wud them fellers wot put money on horses they've never seen.... He döan't get more'n fifteen bob a week at Honeychild, and he can't keep the old folk on less than eight, them being always filling themselves with doctor's stuff...."
I caan't feel 'tis so yet. I caan't feel as he'm truly dead. An' yet 'twas no lie, for I seed en, an' stood 'longside of en." "God's Hand be everywheer in it. Think if I'd read poor Joan's letter an' tawld 'e wheer the man's plaace of livin' was!" "Iss, then I'd have slain en. 'Tis such lil things do mark out our paths.
I be punished wi' loss an' wi' sich work put on me as may lead to a terrible ugly plaace at the end. But theer 'tis. Like the chisel in the hand o' the carpenter, so I be a sharp tool in the Lard's grip." "Never! You be a poor, dazed worm in the grip o' your awn evil thots! Theer's no religion as would put you in the right wi' sich notions as them.
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