Krindlesyke by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
page 164 of 186 (88%)
page 164 of 186 (88%)
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BELL: Nay: heâll not dangle in a hempen noose. JUDITH: And yet you saw his body ... BELL: Dead menâs knuckles! You didnât swallow that gammon? Why should I Be sleeping under Winterâs Stob? But Jim-- I doubt if heâd the guts to stick a porker: You neednât fear for him. But I must go. JUDITH: Go? Youâll not go without a sup of tea, After youâve traiked so far? Michael and Ruth ... BELL: Ay, Judith: I just caught a squint of them Among the cluther outside the circus-tent: But I was full-tilt on Jimâs track, then: and so, I couldnât daunder: or Iâd have stopped to have A closer look: yet I saw that each was carrying A little image of a Barrasford: (_Looking into the cradle._) And hereâs the reckling image, seemingly-- The sleeping spit of Michael at the age. |
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