PEGEEN -- [puzzled by his talk.] -- Well, it's a story I'm not understanding
at all why you'd be worse than another, Christy Mahon, and you a fine lad with
the great savagery to destroy your da.

CHRISTY. It's little I'm understanding myself, saving only that my heart's
scalded this day, and I going off stretching out the earth between us, the way
I'll not be waking near you another dawn of the year till the two of us do
arise to hope or judgment with the saints of God, and now I'd best be going
with my wattle in my hand, for hanging is a poor thing (turning to go), and
it's little welcome only is left me in this house to-day.

PEGEEN -- [sharply.] Christy! (He turns round.) Come here to me. (He goes
towards her.) Lay down that switch and throw some sods on the fire. You're
pot-boy in this place, and I'll not have you mitch off from us now.

CHRISTY. You were saying I'd be hanged if I stay.

PEGEEN -- [quite kindly at last.] -- I'm after going down and reading the
fearful crimes of Ireland for two weeks or three, and there wasn't a word of
your murder. (Getting up and going over to the counter.) They've likely not
found the body. You're safe so with ourselves.

CHRISTY -- [astonished, slowly.] -- It's making game of me you were (following
her with fearful joy), and I can stay so, working at your side, and I not
lonesome from this mortal day.

PEGEEN. What's to hinder you from staying, except the widow woman or the
young girls would inveigle you off?