MICHAEL, triumphantly.
Father Reilly's after reading it in gallous Latin, and "It's come in the nick of time," says he; "so I'll wed them in a hurry, dreading that young gaffer who'd capsize the stars."
PEGEEN, fiercely.
He's missed his nick of time, for it's that lad, Christy Mahon, that I'm wedding now.
MICHAEL, loudly, with horror.
You'd be making him a son to me, and he wet and crusted with his father's blood?
PEGEEN.
Aye. Wouldn't it be a bitter thing for a girl to go marrying the like of Shaneen, and he a middling kind of a scarecrow, with no savagery or fine words in him at all?
MICHAEL, gasping and sinking on a chair.
Oh, aren't you a heathen daughter to go shaking the fat of my heart, and I swamped and drownded with the weight of drink? Would you have them turning on me the way that I'd be roaring to the dawn of day with the wind
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