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The Shadow of the Glen. Riders to the Sea. the Well of the Saints. the Tinker's Wedding

The Shadow of the Glen. Riders to the Sea. the Well of the Saints. the Tinker's Wedding

Paperback

By (author) J M Synge, By (author) John Millington Synge

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  • Publisher: Rarebooksclub.com
  • Format: Paperback | 34 pages
  • Dimensions: 189mm x 246mm x 2mm | 82g
  • Publication date: 13 September 2013
  • ISBN 10: 123681682X
  • ISBN 13: 9781236816825
  • Illustrations note: black & white illustrations

Product description

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1910 edition. Excerpt: ...one to the other. MARY DoUL. Let the two of you not torment me at all. She goes out left, with her head in the air. MARTIN DoUL (stops work and looks after her). Well, isn't it a queer thing she can't keep herself two days without looking on my face? TIMMY (jeeringly). Looking on your face is it? And she after going by with her head turned the way you'd see a priest going where there'd be a drunken man in the side ditch talking with a girl. (Martin Doul gets up and goes to corner of fiirge, and looks out left.) Come back here and don't mind her at all. Come back here, I'm saying, you've no call to be spying behind her since she went off, and left you, in place of breaking her heart, trying to keep you in the decency of clothes and food. MARTIN DoUL (crying out indignantly). You know rightly, Timmy, it was myself drove her away. TIMMY. That's a lie you're telling, yet it's little I care which one of you was driving the other, and let you walk back here, I'm saying, to your work. MARTIN DoUL (turning round). I'm coming, surely. He stops and looks out right, going a step or two towards centre. TIMMY. On what is it you're gaping, Martin Doul? MARTIN DoUL. There's a person walking above.... It's Molly Byrne, I'm thinking, coming down with her can. TIMMY. If she is itself let you not be idling this day, or minding her at all, and let you hurry with them sticks, for I'll want you in a short while to be blowing in the forge. He throws down pot-hooks. MARTIN DoUL (crying out). Is it roasting me now you'd be? (Turns back and sees pot--hooks; he takes them up.) Pot-hooks? Is it over them you've been inside sneezing and sweating since the...

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