Ruth:
I always fancied she’d turn up again,
In spite of all her raivelling—Michael, you mind,
About the mutch with frills, and all thon havers?
But where we are to put her I can’t think:
There’s not a bed for her.
Judith:
She’s on my bed.
Ruth:
Your bed? But you ...
Judith:
She’s welcome to my bed,
As long as she has need. She’ll not lie long,
Before they lift her.
Michael:
Judith!