GODLEIGH. Don't yu never tell Will Freman what 'e told me!
FREMAN. Avenin'!
TRUSTAFORD. Avenin', Will; what's yure glass o' trouble?
FREMAN. Drop o' eider, clove, an' dash o' gin. There's blood in the sky to-night.
BURLACOMBE. Ah! We'll 'ave fine weather now, with the full o' the mune.
FREMAN. Dust o' wind an' a drop or tu, virst, I reckon. 'Earl t' nuse about curate an' 'is wife?
GODLEIGH. No, indeed; an' don't yu tell us. We'm Christians 'ere in this village.
FREMAN. 'Tain't no very Christian nuse, neither. He's sent 'er off to th' doctor. "Go an' live with un," 'e says; "my blessin' on ye." If 'er'd a-been mine, I'd 'a tuk the whip to 'er. Tam Jarland's maid, she yeard it all. Christian, indeed! That's brave Christianity! "Goo an' live with un!" 'e told 'er.
BURLACOMBE. No, no; that's, not sense—a man to say that. I'll not 'ear that against a man that bides in my 'ouse.
FREMAN. 'Tes sure, I tell 'ee. The maid was hid-up, scared-like, behind the curtain. At it they went, and parson 'e says: "Go," 'e says, "I won't kape 'ee from 'im," 'e says, "an' I won't divorce 'ee, as yu don't wish it!" They was 'is words, same as Jarland's maid told my maid, an' my maid told my missis. If that's parson's talk, 'tes funny work goin' to church.