Page:The Playboy of the Western World.djvu/26



I am not; but I’m destroyed walking.

Let you come up then to the fire. You're looking famished with the cold.

God reward you! (He takes up his glass and goes a little way across to the left, then stops and looks about him.) Is it often the polis do be coming into this place, master of the house?

If you’d come in better hours, you’d have seen “Licensed for the Sale of Beer and Spirits, to be Consumed on the Premises,” written in white letters above the door, and what would the polis want spying on me, and not a decent house within four miles, the way every living Christian is a bona fide, saving one widow alone?

It’s a safe house, so. ''He goes over to the fire, sighing and moaning. Then he sits down, putting his glass beside him'',