Читать книгу Mearing Stones: Leaves from My Note-Book on Tramp in Donegal - Campbell Joseph, Joseph Campbell - Страница 3

We were talking together the other morning – the publican and myself – outside the inn door at Barra, when a dark woman passed. “God look to that poor creature,” says he; “she hasn’t as much on her as would stuff a crutch.” “Stuff a what?” says I, for I didn’t quite understand him. “The bolster of a crutch,” says he. “And she knows nobody. Her eye-strings is broke.”