human
Matter? Tchut--Tchut--Theer ban't no God--that's what's the matter!
gpt
Billy! How can you?
human
She'm gwaine to marry t'other, arter all! From her awn lips I've heard it! That's what I get for being a church member from the womb! That's my reward! God, indeed! Be them the ways o' a plain-dealin' God, who knaws what's doin' in human hearts? No fay! Bunkum an' rot! I'll never lift my voice in hymn nor psalm no more, nor pray a line o' prayer again. Who be I to be treated like that? Drunken auld cat! I cussed her--I cussed her! Wouldn't marry her now if she axed wi' her mouth in the dirt. Wheer's justice to? Tell me that. Me in church, keepin' order 'mong the damn boys generation arter generation, and him never inside the door since he buried his wife. An' parson siding wi' un, I'll wager. Mother Coomstock 'll give un hell's delights, that's wan gude thought. A precious pair of 'em! Tchut! Gar!
gpt
I doan't really think you could have loved Mrs. Coomstock overmuch, Billy, if you can talk so ugly an' crooked 'bout her,
human
I did, I tell 'e--for years an' years. I went down on my knees to the bitch--I wish I hadn't; I'll be sorry for that to my dying day. I kissed her, tu,--s' elp me, I did. You mightn't think it, but I did--a faace like a frost-bitten beetroot, as 't is!
gpt
Doan't 'e, please, say such horrible things. You must be wise about it. You see, they say Mr. Lezzard has more money than you. At least, so Mrs. Coomstock told her nephew, Clement Hicks. Every one of her relations is savage about it.
human
Well they may be. Why doan't they lock her up? If she ban't mad, nobody ever was. 'Money'! Lezzard! Lying auld--auld--Tchut! Not money enough to pay for a graave to hide his rotten bones, I lay. Oh, 't is enough to--theer, what 's the use of talkin'? Tchut--Tchut!