PEGEEN.
with scorn.—As good, is it? Where now will you meet the like of Daneen Sullivan knocked the eye from a peeler, or Marcus Quin, God rest him, got six months for maiming ewes, and he a great warrant to tell stories of holy Ireland till he’d have the old women shedding down tears about their feet. Where will you find the like of them, I’m saying?
SHAWN.
timidly.—If you don’t it’s a good job, maybe; for (with peculiar emphasis on the words) Father Reilly has small conceit to have that kind walking around and talking to the girls.
PEGEEN.
impatiently, throwing water from basin out of the door.—Stop tormenting me with Father Reilly (imitating his voice) when I’m asking only what way I’ll pass these twelve hours of dark, and not take my death with the fear. (Looking out of door.)
SHAWN.
timidly.—Would I fetch you the widow Quin, maybe?
PEGEEN.
Is it the like of that murderer? You’ll not, surely.
SHAWN.
going to her, soothingly.—Then I’m thinking himself will stop along with you when he sees you taking on, for it’ll be a long night-time with great darkness, and I’m after feeling a kind of fellow above in the furzy ditch, groaning wicked like a maddening dog, the way it’s good cause you have, maybe, to be fearing now.
PEGEEN.
turning on him sharply.—What’s that? Is it a man you seen?
SHAWN.
retreating.—I couldn’t see him at all; but I heard him groaning out, and breaking his heart. It should have been a young man from his words speaking.
PEGEEN.
going after him.—And you never went near to see was he hurted or what ailed him at all?
SHAWN.
I did not, Pegeen Mike. It was a dark, lonesome place to be hearing the like of him.