(Turning to go out on right.) Ah,
it's a better thing to have a simple, seemly face, the like of my
face, for two-score years, or fifty itself, than to be setting
fools mad a short while, and then to be turning a thing would
drive off the little children from your feet.
[She goes out; Martin Doul has come forward again, mastering
himself, but uncertain.]
TIMMY. Oh, God protect us, Molly, from the words of the blind.
(He throws down Martin Doul's coat and stick.) There's your old
rubbish now, Martin Doul, and let you take it up, for it's all
you have, and walk off through the world, for if ever I meet you
coming again, if it's seeing or blind you are itself, I'll bring
out the big hammer and hit you a welt with it will leave you easy
till the judgment day.
MARTIN DOUL -- [rousing himself with an effort.] -- What call
have you to talk the like of that with myself?
TIMMY -- [pointing to Molly Byrne.] -- It's well you know what
call I have. It's well you know a decent girl, I'm thinking to
wed, has no right to have her heart scalded with hearing talk --
and queer, bad talk, I'm thinking -- from a raggy-looking fool
the like of you.
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