Western World: Act i
PHILLY, turning on Jimmy.
You’re a silly man, Jimmy Farrell. He said his father was a farmer a while since, and there’s himself now in a poor state. Maybe the land was grabbed from him, and he did what any decent man would do.
MICHAEL, to Christy, mysteriously.
Was it bailiffs?
CHRISTY.
The divil a one.
MICHAEL.
Agents?
CHRISTY.
The divil a one.
MICHAEL.
Landlords?
CHRISTY, peevishly.
Ah, not at all, I’m saying. You’d see the like of them stories on any little paper of a Munster town. But I’m not calling to mind any person, gentle, simple, judge or jury, did the like of me.
They all draw nearer with delighted curiosity.
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