HYACINTH. I'll steal a sheep—or a cow—or a horse—if that will leave me the way I was before.
FARDY. It's maybe in jail it will leave you.
HYACINTH. I don't care—I'll confess—I'll tell why I did it—I give you my word I would as soon be picking oakum or breaking stones as to be perched in the daylight the same as that bird, and all the town chirruping to me or bidding me chirrup——
FARDY. There is reason in that, now.
HYACINTH. Help me, will you?
FARDY. Well, if it is to steal a sheep you want, you haven't far to go.
HYACINTH. [Looking around wildly.] Where is it? I see no sheep.
FARDY. Look around you.
HYACINTH. I see no living thing but that thrush——
FARDY. Did I say it was living? What is that hanging on Quirke's rack?