“Yo get it gey thick and saft down here, A’m thinking.”
“Unaccountable,” said Mrs. Beatup, and squinted nervously at Ivy.
Ivy’s wits had at first been blown to the four winds, and she sat during this conversation with her mouth open, but gradually resolve began to form in her sickened heart; she felt her brain and body stiffen—she would fight....
“A chose a bad week t’coom Sooth,” started Mrs. Seagrim, “but ’twas all the choice A had—A hae t’roon my man’s business now he’s sojering. Yo’ mither tells me, Miss Beatup, as nane here knaws he’s marrit. But marrit he is, and has twa bonny bairns.”
“I know,” said Ivy—“he toald me.”
“He toald you!” broke in Mrs. Beatup. “You said naun to me about it.”
“I disremember. He wur only here the twice.”
Mrs. Seagrim looked at her curiously.
“Weel, maist folk didn’t sim t’knaw. A took a room in Hailsham toon, and the gude woman said as how t’Corporal had allus passed for a bachelor man, and was coorting a lass up t’next village.”