Father T Down where?
Myles Below, where he’s gone to—where would he be, afther murthering a poor crature?
Father T How d’ye know that?
Myles How! how did I!—whist, Father Tom, it was his ghost.
Father T He is not dead, but dyin’ fast, from the wound ye gave him.
Myles I never knew ’twas himself ’till I was tould.
Father T Who tould you?
Myles Is it who?
Father T Who? who?—not Danny, for he doesn’t know who killed him.
Myles Wait, an’ I’ll tell you. It was nigh twelve that night, I was comin’ home—I know the time, betoken Murty Dwyer made me step in his shebeen, bein’ the wake of the ould Callaghan, his wife’s uncle—and a dacent man he was. “Murty,” sez I—