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"I'm gauin' ower to the toon to buy a feow hanks o' worset to weyve a pair o' stockins to my man. Guid day to ye, Janet. What neist, I won'er?" she added to herself as she left the house. "The wuman's clean dementit!" The moment she was gone, Janet caught up her broom again, and went spying about over the roof ceiling there was none after long tangles of agglomerated cobweb and smoke.
Then oi said to eawr Marget, as we lay upo' t' floor, "We's never be lower i' this warld oi'm sure, If ever things awtern, oi'm sure they mun mend, For oi think i' my heart we're booath at t' far eend; For meeat we ha' none, Nor looms t' weyve on, Edad! they're as good lost as fund."
There's nane o' them left, but there's the rucks they're no soomin' yet! I want to gang to the Lord, but I maunna weet Willie Mackay's claes." "It's a sair peety," said Janet, "'at the men fowk disna learn to weyve stockin's, or dee something or ither wi' their han's. Mony's the time my stockin' 's been maist as guid's a cloaset to me, though I cudna jist gang intil't. But what maitters 't!
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