rouse your spirits to a deed of blood.

CHRISTY -- [doubtfully.] It should, maybe.

WIDOW QUIN. It's more than "maybe" I'm saying, and it'd soften my heart to
see you sitting so simple with your cup and cake, and you fitter to be saying
your catechism than slaying your da.

PEGEEN -- [at counter, washing glasses.] -- There's talking when any'd see
he's fit to be holding his head high with the wonders of the world. Walk on
from this, for I'll not have him tormented and he destroyed travelling since
Tuesday was a week.

WIDOW QUIN -- [peaceably.] We'll be walking surely when his supper's done,
and you'll find we're great company, young fellow, when it's of the like of
you and me you'd hear the penny poets singing in an August Fair.

CHRISTY -- [innocently.] Did you kill your father?

PEGEEN -- [contemptuously.] She did not. She hit himself with a worn pick,
and the rusted poison did corrode his blood the way he never overed it, and
died after. That was a sneaky kind of murder did win small glory with the
boys itself. [She crosses to Christy's left.]

WIDOW QUIN -- [with good-humour.] -- If it didn't, maybe all knows a widow
woman has buried her children and destroyed her man is a wiser comrade for a
young lad than a girl, the like of you, who'd go helter-skeltering after any
man would let you a wink upon the road.

PEGEEN -- [breaking out into wild rage.] -- And you'll say that, Widow Quin,