BLACKMORE
It is rotten, when you're tied to a life you don't like. But I should miss it if you weren't here. When I'm coming down the line to the pit in the morning—it's nearly dark at seven now—I watch the firelight in here—Sometimes I put my hand on the wall outside where the chimney runs up to feel it warm—There isn't much in Bestwood, is there?
MRS. HOLROYD
There's less than nothing if you can't be like the rest of them—as common as they're 'made.
BLACKMORE
It's a fact—particularly for a woman—But this place is cosy—God love me, I'm sick of lodgings.
MRS. HOLROYD
You'll have to get married—I'm sure there are plenty of nice girls about.
BLACKMORE
Are there? I never see 'em. (He laughs)