“I've got this shirt so full of mud I don't think I ever will get it clean,” he said.
“Move ye ole hide away, Andy. Ah'll wash it. You ain't no good for nothin'.”
“Hell no, I'll do it.”
“Move ye hide out of there.”
“Thanks awfully.”
Andrews got to his feet and wiped the mud off his nose with his bare forearm.
“Ah'm goin' to shoot that bastard,” said Chrisfield, scrubbing at the shirt.
“Don't be an ass, Chris.”
“Ah swear to God Ah am.”
“What's the use of getting all wrought up. The thing's over. You'll probably never see him again.”