MARTIN DOUL -- [seizing the moment that he has her attention.] --
I'm thinking by the mercy of God it's few sees anything but them
is blind for a space (with excitement.) It's a few sees the old
woman rotting for the grave, and it's few sees the like of
yourself. (He bends over her.) Though it's shining you are, like
a high lamp would drag in the ships out of the sea.

MOLLY BYRNE -- [shrinking away from him.] -- Keep off from me,
Martin Doul.

MARTIN DOUL -- [quickly, with low, furious intensity.] -- It's
the truth I'm telling you. (He puts his hand on her shoulder and
shakes her.) And you'd do right not to marry a man is after
looking out a long while on the bad days of the world; for what
way would the like of him have fit eyes to look on yourself, when
you rise up in the morning and come out of the little door you
have above in the lane, the time it'd be a fine thing if a man
would be seeing, and losing his sight, the way he'd have your two
eyes facing him, and he going the roads, and shining above him,
and he looking in the sky, and springing up from the earth, the
time he'd lower his head, in place of the muck that seeing men do
meet all roads spread on the world.

MOLLY BYRNE -- [who has listened half mesmerized, starting away.]
-- It's the like of that talk you'd hear from a man would be
losing his mind.

MARTIN DOUL -- [going after her, passing to her right.] -- It'd
be little wonder if a man near the like of you would be losing