Prisoner. Had he these very shoes on. Look at them.
Jane. I couldn't say for that. He had shoon, for they did properly clatter on my bricks.
The Judge. Clatter on her bricks! What does she mean?
Prisoner. I think she means on the floor of her kitchen. 'Tis a brick floor, if I remember right.
The Judge. Good woman, say, is that what you mean?
Jane. Ay, an't please you, my lord.
Prisoner. Had the pedlar a mole on his forehead?
Jane. Not that I know on. I never took so much notice of the man. But la, Dame, now I look at you, I don't believe you was ever the one to murder our master.
Wiltshire. We don't want your opinion. Confine yourself to facts.
Prisoner. You heard me rating my husband on that night; what was it I said about the constables—do do you remember?