Excerpt from Shanwalla

An old harness room, with bridles etc. Conary is sitting at fire, has just finished a meal and is putting down mug and plate, awkwardly. Bride Scarry is sitting on table, working at bodice of a dress.

Conary: Many is the place where you stretched out your hand to me, Bride Scarry, over the mering in Clare the time you had a harbour with the Brogans that were of your kin, and after that when you shifted over to Pat O'Malley that was of your kin, and after that again when you took service in the big house of the Darcys. And anything you would bring to me, if it was but a potato itself I would be sure of it, and I had no need to go sniffing the same as a yard dog to know was the bit sweet or stinking, wholesome or harmful, was thrust into the hand of the man is blind and defeated in the sight.

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