“I don’t care nowt for parson or anybody, and what do you mean with your state. I’ve ony been as far as the corner.”
At such times Sim would pull off his boots with some difficulty, for he had the peculiarity of being perfectly sober as far as his waist, while his legs would be in such a disgraceful state of intoxication that he did not reach home without their throwing the upper part of his body several times on the ground. The boots being removed, Sim would sit before the fire talking to himself, and working his toes about in his coarse knitted stockings.
“Why can’t you put on your slippers, Sim?” Mrs Sim would say.
“I wean’t,” he’d answer. “I’m not going to be ordered about by a woman. I’m a man.”
“You’re a nasty drunken pig,” exclaimed Mrs Slee.
“What!” he would say indignantly, “drunk! Heven’t had a glass. I never have a bit o’ peace o’ my life. Tant-tant-tant all day long, driving me away from home. Ugh, you know nowt but nastiness. You always weer nasty. Go to bed.”