Damer: To dry it is it? (Seizes sods and takes them from the hearth.) And what length would it be without being burned and consumed and it not to be wet putting it on? (Pours water over it.) And I after stacking it purposely in the corner where there does be a drip from the thatch.
Ralph: She but thought it would be more answerable to you being dry.
Damer: What way could I bear the expense of a fire on the hearth and it to leave smouldering and to break out into a blaze? A month's cutting maybe to go to ashes within three minutes, and into wisps of smoke. And the price of turf in this year gone wild out of measure, and it packed so roguish you could read the printed speeches on the paper through the sods you do be buying in the creel.
Staffy: I was saying myself not to meddle with it. It is hurry is a worse friend than delay.
Damer: Where did you get those spuds are roasting there upon the hearth?
Ralph: Herself that brought them out from the sieve, thinking to make ready your meal.
Damer: My seed potatoes! Samples I got from the guardians and asked in the shops and in stores till I'd gather enough to set a few ridges in the gardens would serve me through the length of the year!
Delia: Let you be satisfied so with your mouldy bit of loaf. (Breaks a bit from it and hands it to him.)
Damer: Do not be breaking it so wasteful! The mice to have news there was as much as that of crumbs in the house, they would be running the same as chickens around the floor!
Ralph: Thinking to be comfortable to you she was, the way you would make us welcome from this out.