NORA
[Looking uneasily at the body.] Maybe cold would be no sign of
death with the like of him, for he was always cold, every day
since I knew him, -- and every night, stranger, -- [she covers up
his face and comes away from the bed); but I'm thinking it's dead
he is surely, for he's complaining a while back of a pain in his
heart, and this morning, the time he was going off to Brittas for
three days or four, he was taken with a sharp turn. Then he went
into his bed and he was saying it was destroyed he was, the time
the shadow was going up through the glen, and when the sun set on
the bog beyond he made a great lep, and let a great cry out of
him, and stiffened himself out the like of a dead sheep.

TRAMP
[Crosses himself.] God rest his soul.

NORA
[Pouring him out a glass of whisky.] Maybe that would do you
better than the milk of the sweetest cow in County Wicklow.

TRAMP
The Almighty God reward you, and may it be to your good health.
[He drinks.]

NORA
[Giving him a pipe and tobacco.] I've no pipes saving his own,
stranger, but they're sweet pipes to smoke.

TRAMP