PRIEST --
loudly. -- It's a wicked, thiev-
ing, lying, scheming lot you are, the pack of
you. Let you walk off now and take every
stinking rag you have there from the ditch.
MARY --
putting her shawl over her head.*
Marry her, your reverence, for the love of
God, for there'll be queer doings below if you
send her off the like of that and she swearing
crazy on the road.
SARAH --
angrily. -- It's the truth she's
saying; for it's herself, I'm thinking, is after
swapping the tin can for a pint, the time she
was raging mad with the drouth, and our-
selves above walking the hill.
MARY --
crying out with indignation. --
Have you no shame, Sarah Casey, to tell lies
unto a holy man?
SARAH --
to Mary, working herself into46
a rage. -- It's making game of me you'd be,
and putting a fool's head on me in the face
of the world; but if you were thinking to be
mighty cute walking off, or going up to hide
in the church, I've got you this time, and
you'll not run from me now.
[
She seizes up one of the bottles. MARY --
hiding behind the priest. -- Keep
her off, your reverence, keep her off for the
love of the Almighty God. What at all would
the Lord Bishop say if he found me here
lying with my head broken across, or the two
of yous maybe digging a bloody grave for
me at the door of the church?
PRIEST --
waving Sarah off.
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