COOK. You don't say! Why, in the books they're escapin' all the time.
But books is books; I've always said so. How were the men?
FAITH. Never saw a man—only a chaplain.
COOK. Dear, dear! They must be quite fresh to you, then! How long was it?
FAITH. Two years.
COOK. And never a day out? What did you do all the time? Did they learn you anything?
FAITH. Weaving. That's why I hate it.
COOK. Tell me about your poor little baby. I'm sure you meant it for the best.
FAITH. [Sardonically] Yes; I was afraid they'd make it a ward in
Chancery.
COOK. Oh! dear—what things do come into your head! Why! No one can take a baby from its mother.
FAITH. Except the Law.