‘Mo chuid sionnacht [var pl?]! Iad á ngoid ag mo thionóntaithe féin!’

‘Ach ni bhíonn tú ag seilg sionnach, a thaisce, agus tá’s agat
go n-itheann siad na piasúin . . .’arsa a chéile.

There was silence in the room. Dineen enjoyed, for a second, the effect of his story
on the company. The second after that he cowered before the shout Woodley let out

‘My foxes! My own tenants are stealing them!’

‘But you don’t hunt foxes, my dear, and you know they eat the pheasants . . .’ said his wife.

Tháinig Dínny amach ón gcuilinn agus a lámha san aer.

‘Tá drochbhail ar na créatúirí istigh ansin.’ ar seisean.

‘Ná bog,’ arsa Jeremiah leis agus, gan béal an ghunnáin a bhogadh, chúlaigh sé gur thug sé stracfhéachaint ar a raibh istigh i gcairt Dinny.

‘Boscaí folmha agus beart sac. Sin uile atá ann,’ arsa Dinny.

Chinntigh Lowney nach raibh Dinny armtha.

‘Suigh id chairt go nglaofaidh mé ort ‘

Chrom an tAthair P’ádraig athuair ar an mbeirt a bhí ceangailte a scaoileadh saor.

‘Bhí tú ag súil go mbeadh gunnaí sa chairt?’ ar seisean le Lowney.

Dinny came out from the holly with his hands in the air.

‘The creatures in there are in bad shape.’ he said.

‘Don’t move,’ Jeremiah said to him and, without moving the mouth of the revolver, move back to take a cursory glance at everything that what was in Dinny’s cart.

‘Empty boxes and a bundle of sacks. That’s all there is,’ said Dinny.

Lowney made sure Dinny was not armed.

‘Sit in your cart until I call you’

Fr. Patrick bent over the two that were tied up to release them.

‘You were expecting guns in the cart?’ he said to Lowney