BELL:
I kenned the face.

JIM:
Whose face? ...

BELL:
Best not to ask.

JIM:
O Christ!

BELL:
But we were talking of your friends:
Quite anxious about you, they seemed.

JIM (_limping towards BELL HAGGARD with lifted arm_):
You cadger-quean!
You’ve set them on. I’ll crack you over the cruntle--
You rummel-dusty ... You muckhut ... You windyhash!
I’ll slit your weazen for you: I’ll break your jaw--
I’ll stop your gob, if I’ve to do you in!
You’ll not sleep under Winter’s Stob to-night.

BELL (_regarding him, unmoved_):
As well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb?

JIM (_stopping short_):
Hanged?