PEOPLE.
jeeringly. — Try again, Martin, try again, and you’ll be finding her yet.
MARTIN DOUL.
passionately. — Where is it you have her hidden away? Isn’t it a black shame for a drove of pitiful beasts the like of you to be making game of me, and putting a fool’s head on me the grand day of my life? Ah, you’re thinking you’re a fine lot, with your giggling, weeping eyes, a fine lot to be making game of myself and the woman I’ve heard called the great wonder of the west.
[During this speech, which he gives with his back towards the church, Mary Doul has come out with her sight cured, and come down towards the right with a silly simpering smile, till she is a little behind Martin Doul.]
MARY DOUL.
when he pauses. — Which of you is Martin Doul?
MARTIN DOUL.
wheeling round. — It’s her voice surely.
[They stare at each other blankly.]
MOLLY BYRNE.
to Martin Doul. — Go up now and take her under the chin and be speaking the way you spoke to myself.
MARTIN DOUL.
in a low voice, with intensity. — If I speak now, I’ll speak hard to the two of you.
MOLLY BYRNE.
to Mary Doul. — You’re not saying a word, Mary. What is it you think of himself, with the fat legs on him, and the little neck like a ram?
MARY DOUL.
I’m thinking it’s a poor thing when the Lord God gives you sight and puts the like of that man in your way.