EMMA. Not sin' tha moother died.
SAM. Naw. A suppose not. Not sin' ma moother died. She were a fine woman, ma moother, for all she were bed-ridden.
EMMA. She were better than 'er son, though that's not saying much neither.
SAM. Naw, but tha does mind ma 'ouse, Emma, as it were when she were alive?
EMMA. Aye.
SAM. A 've done a bit at it sin' them days. Got a new quilt on bed from Co-op. Red un, it is, wi' blue stripes down 'er.
EMMA. Aye.
SAM. Well, Emma?
EMMA (over her shoulder). Well, what? What's thy 'ouse an' thy quilt to do wi' me?
SAM. Oh, nought.—Tha doesn't 'elp a feller much, neither.