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Updated: June 29, 2025
An' you, as had your sawl centered 'pon en how comes it you can " She stopped abruptly, for he lay motionless and made no sort of response to her shrill complaining. She had yet to learn the cause; she had yet to know that Michael had drifted beyond the reach of all further mental suffering whatsoever.
Penticost said she thought it was." Judy did not add that Mrs. Penticost's precise method of giving the information had been to snort out: "T'young maister can't live through the night wethout writing to she, simminly.... Poor sawl!" Blanche read the little note through twice, a smile on her face, then pulled Judith down to her and kissed her. "Blanche, are you ...?" asked Judy breathlessly.
They've found her in the brook as the waters went down. Drownded theer the awnly sunshine as ever smiled at Drift. Oh, my good God! 'tis a miz-maze to drive us all out of our senses. An' you, mother my dear, dear sawl, my heart bleeds for 'e." "I caan't cry for her my tears be dried at the roots o' my eyes. I be down-danted to the edge o' my awn graave.
'Twas a evil day, Thomas Chirgwin, when I fust seed them o' your blood an ill hour, an' you drives it red-hot into my brain with your actions. Bad, bad you be bad as that lyin', false, lost sinner theer a-draggin' out your cant o' forgiveness an' foolin' a damned sawl wi' falsehoods. You knaws wheer she'm gwaine; an' your squeakin', time-servin' passon knaws; an' you both tells her differ'nt!"
Tear his heartstrings, God o' Hosts, rob en of all he loves, stamp his foul mind wi' memories till he shrieks for death an' judgment; punish his seed forever; turn his prayers into swearin'; torture en, rot en sawl an' body till you brings me to en.
If you could a heard Mister Jan! You would understand, wi' your warm heart, but I caan't make 'e; I've no terrible, braave, butivul words. I'll gaw my ways then. If any sawl had tawld me as I'd ever bring tears down your faace I'd never b'lieved 'em never; but so I have, an' that's bitterness to me." He took her by the hand and pressed it, then put his arm round her and kissed her.
'Tis a tricky thing is Gawd's graace." "But it's gone," she said. "You gave your soul for Ally when you married her." He smiled. "I toald 'er I'd give my sawl t' marry 'er," he said. As she went home she tried to recapture the magic of the flowering thorn-trees. But it had gone and she could not be persuaded that it would come again.
'T is rotting me body an' sawl that's what 't is doin'. An' now I be come to such a pass that if I met un to-morrow an' he swore on his dying oath he'd never tell, I shouldn't be contented even wi' that." "No such gude fortune," sighed Phoebe. "'T wouldn't be gude fortune," answered her husband.
All Tregenzas was o' the Lard's harvest; an' should I, as feared God more'n any o' 'em, an' fought for the Lard of Hosts 'fore I was higher'n this table should I Michael Tregenza, breed a damned sawl? The thot's comed black an' terrible 'pon my mind 'fore to-day; an' I've put en away from me, judgin' 'twas the devil.
The instinct lies somewhere at the root of human nature, together with many another morbid vein and trait not readily to be analysed or understood. Only educated persons conceal it. "She had deliriums just at the end," said Martha, her maid. "She called out in a voice as I never heard afore, an' mistook her husband for the Dowl." "Poor sawl!
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