STRANGWAY. [With a faint smile—more to himself than to Jim] Lonesome! Yes! That's bad, Jim! That's bad!
JIM. I miss 'er when I sits than in the avenin'.
STRANGWAY. The evenings——They're the worst——and when the blackbirds sing in the morning.
JIM. She used to lie on my bed, ye know, zurr.
[STRANGWAY turns his face away, contracted with pain]
She'm like a Christian.
STRANGWAY. The beasts are.
JIM. There's plenty folk ain't 'alf as Christian as 'er be.
STRANGWAY. Well, dear Jim, I'll do my very best. And any time you're lonely, come up, and I'll play the flute to you.
JIM. [Wriggling slightly] No, zurr. Thank 'ee, zurr.