MARTIN DOUL -- [taking her hand.] -- Come a bit this way; it's
here it begins. (They grope about gap.) There's a tree pulled
into the gap, or a strange thing happened, since I was passing it
before.
MARY DOUL. Would we have a right to be crawling in below under
the sticks?
MARTIN DOUL. It's hard set I am to know what would be right.
And isn't it a poor thing to be blind when you can't run off
itself, and you fearing to see?
MARY DOUL -- [nearly in tears.] -- It's a poor thing, God help
us, and what good'll our gray hairs be itself, if we have our
sight, the way we'll see them falling each day, and turning dirty
in the rain?
[The bell sounds nearby.]
MARTIN DOUL -- [in despair.] -- He's coming now, and we won't get
off from him at all.
MARY DOUL. Could we hide in the bit of a briar is growing at the
west butt of the church?
MARTIN DOUL. We'll try that, surely. (He listens a moment.) Let
you make haste; I hear them trampling in the wood. [They grope
over to church.]
MARY DOUL. It's the words of the young girls making a great stir
in the trees. (They find the bush.) Here's the briar on my left,
Martin; I'll go in first, I'm the big one, and I'm easy to see.
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