MICHAEL --
with dismay. -- It's the like
of that you do be thinking!
SARAH. The like of that, Michael Byrne,
when there is a bit of sun in it, and a kind
air, and a great smell coming from the thorn
trees is above your head.
MICHAEL --
looks at her for a moment
with horror, and then hands her the ring. --
Will that fit you now?
SARAH --
trying it on. -- It's making it
tight you are, and the edges sharp on the tin.
MICHAEL --
looking at it carefully. --
It's the fat of your own finger, Sarah Casey;
and isn't it a mad thing I'm saying again
that you'd be asking marriage of me, or mak-
ing a talk of going away from me, and you
thriving and getting your good health by the
grace of the Almighty God?
SARAH --
giving it back to him. -- Fix it
now, and it'll do, if you're wary you don't
squeeze it again.
MICHAEL --
moodily, working again. --
It's easy saying be wary; there's many things
easy said, Sarah Casey, you'd wonder a fool
even would be saying at all.
(He starts vio-16
lently.) The divil mend you, I'm scalded
again!
SARAH --
scornfully. -- If you are, it's a
clumsy man you are this night, Michael Byrne
(raising her voice); and let you make haste
now, or herself will be coming with the porter.
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