MR. QUIRKE. I would sooner it to have been any other beast nearly ever I had upon the rack.
MRS. DELANE. Is that so?
MR. QUIRKE. I bade the Widow Early to kill it a fortnight ago—but she would not, she was that covetous!
MRS. DELANE. What was on it?
MR. QUIRKE. How would I know what was on it? Whatever was on it, it was the will of God put it upon it—wasted it was, and shivering and refusing its share.
MRS. DELANE. The poor thing.
MR. QUIRKE. Gone all to nothing—wore away like a flock of thread. It did not weigh as much as a lamb of two months.
MRS. DELANE. It is likely the inspector will bring it to Dublin?
MR. QUIRKE. The ribs of it streaky with the dint of patent medicines——
MRS. DELANE. I wonder is it to the Petty Sessions you'll be brought or is it to the Assizes?