I’ve heard the name;
But can’t just mind ... Ay! You’re the hard-mouthed wench
That took the bit in her teeth, and bolted: although
You scarcely look it, either. Old Ezra used
To mumble your name, when he was raiming on
About the sovereigns Jim made off with: he missed
The money more than the son—small blame to him:
Though why grudge travelling-expenses to good-riddance?
And still, ’twas shabby to pinch the lot: a case
Of pot and kettle, but I’d have scorned to bag
The lot, and leave the old folk penniless.
’Twas hundreds Peter blabbed of—said our share
Wouldn’t be missed—or I’d have never set foot
In Krindlesyke; to think I walked into this trap
For fifty-pound, that wasn’t even here!
I might have kenned—Peter never told the truth,
Except by accident. I did ... and yet,
I came. I had to come: the old witch drew me.
But, Jim was greedy ...
Judith:
Doesn’t Jim live here, now?
Bell:
You’re not sent back by the penitent, then, to pay
The interest on the loan he took that morning
In an absent-minded fit—and pretty tales
Are tarradiddles? Jim’s not mucked that step
In my time: Ezra thought he’d followed you.
Judith:
Me?
Bell:
You’re Jim’s wife—though you’ve not taken his name—
Stuck to your own, and rightly: I’d not swap mine
For any man’s: but, you’re the bride the bridegroom
Lost before bedtime?
Judith: