"Boy bach, a lot of Books of the Word he has," a woman remarked to the Respected Towy-Watkins. "Say him I have one."
"Happy would I be to do like that," was the reply. "But, female, much does the Large One regard His speeches. What is the text on the wall? 'Prepare your deeds for the Lord.' The Beybile is the most religious deed. Farewell for now," and he pretended to go away.
Holding the sleeve of his White Shirt, the woman separated her toothless gums and fashioned her wrinkled face in grief. "Two tens he has," she croaked. "And his shirt is clean. Dirty am I; buried I was as I was found, and the shovelers beat the soil through the top of the coffin. Do much will I for one Beybile."
"A poor dab you are," said Towy.
"Many deeds you have? But no odds to me."
"Four I have."
"Woe for you, unfortunate."
"Iss-iss, horrid is my plight," the woman whined. "Little I did for Him."
"Don't draw tears. For eternity you'll weep. Here is a massive Beybile for your four deeds."
"Take him one. Handy will three be in the minute of the questioning."