sneeze, maybe, in the deadness of the night.

PEGEEN [nodding her head.] -- Well, you should have been a queer lot. I
never cursed my father the like of that, though I'm twenty and more years of
age.

CHRISTY. Then you'd have cursed mine, I'm telling you, and he a man never
gave peace to any, saving when he'd get two months or three, or be locked in
the asylums for battering peelers or assaulting men (with depression) the way
it was a bitter life he led me till I did up a Tuesday and halve his skull.

PEGEEN -- [putting her hand on his shoulder.] -- Well, you'll have peace in
this place, Christy Mahon, and none to trouble you, and it's near time a fine
lad like you should have your good share of the earth.

CHRISTY. It's time surely, and I a seemly fellow with great strength in me
and bravery of . . . [Someone knocks.]

CHRISTY -- [clinging to Pegeen.] -- Oh, glory! it's late for knocking, and
this last while I'm in terror of the peelers, and the walking dead. [Knocking
again.]

PEGEEN. Who's there?

VOICE -- [outside.] Me.

PEGEEN. Who's me?

VOICE. The Widow Quin.