"You did, but they wurn't fit."

"I said you were to bring them, no matter if you thought 'em fit or
not."

"They wurn't fit to be sold as meat."

"I tell you they were."

"No one shall say as Tom Fuller döan't bring fit meat to market."

"You're an obstinate old fool. I tell you they were first-class meat."

Men were pressing round, farmers and graziers and butchers, drawn by the
spectacle of Joanna Godden at war with her looker in the middle of Lydd
market. Alce touched her arm appealingly--

"Come away, Joanna," he murmured.

She flung round at him.

"Keep dear--leave me to settle my own man."

There was a titter in the crowd.

"I know bad meat from good, surelye," continued Fuller, feeling that
popular sentiment was on his side--"I should ought to, seeing as I wur
your father's looker before you wur your father's daughter."