Moya. Why would he be here—hasn’t he a home of his own?
Mrs. O’K. The shebeen is his home when he’s not in gaol. His father died o’ drink, and Conn will go the same way.
Moya. I thought your husband was drowned at sea?
Mrs. O’K. And, bless him, so he was.
Moya (aside). Well, that’s a quare way of dying o’ drink.
Mrs. O’K. The best of men he was, when he was sober—a betther never dhrawed the breath o’ life.
Moya. But you say he never was sober.
Mrs. O’K. Nivir! An’ Conn takes afther him!
Moya. Mother.
Mrs. O’K. Well?