Second W. G. I expeck they feel so ridic'lus, they 'aven't the 'art to 'oller.
Lucilla (to George). Do look at that one going up and sniffing at the bundles of fleeces, trying to find out which is his. Isn't it pathetic?
George. H'm—puts one in mind of a shy man in a cloak-room after a party, saying feebly, "I rather think that's my coat, and there's a crush-hat of mine somewhere about," eh?
Lucilla (who is always wishing that George would talk more sensibly). Considering that sheep don't wear crush-hats, I hardly see how——
George. My dear, I bow to your superior knowledge of natural history. Now you mention it, I believe it is unusual. But I merely meant to suggest a general resemblance.
Lucilla (reprovingly). I know. And you've got into such a silly habit of seeing resemblances in things that are perfectly different. I'm sure I'm always telling you of it.
George. You are, my dear. But I'm not nearly so bad as I was. Think of all the things I used to compare you to before we were married!
Sarah Jane (to her Trooper). I could stand an' look on at 'em hours, I could. I was born and bred in the country, and it do seem to bring back my old 'ome that plain.
Her Trooper. I'm country bred, too, though yer mightn't think it. But there ain't much in sheep shearin' to my mind. If it was pig killin', now!
Sarah Jane. Ah, that's along o' your bein' in the milingtary, I expect.