ÐÇ¿ÕÓéÀÖ¹ÙÍø

I can’t help thinkin� every shot fired’ll be fired at Jack, an� every shot fired at Jack’ll be fired at me. What do I care for th� others? I can think only of me own self. . . . An� there’s no woman gives a son or a husband to be killed � if they say it, they’re lyin�, lyin� against God, Nature, an� against themselves! . . . One blasted hussy at a barricade told me to go home an� not be thryin� to dishearten th� men. . . . That I wasn’t worthy to bear a son to a man that was out fightin� for freedom � I clawed at her, an� smashed her in th� face till we were separated. . . . I was pushed down th� street, an� I cursed them � cursed the rebel ruffians an� the Volunteers that had dhragged me ravin� mad into th� sthreets to seek me husband!

Sean O’Casey, The Plough and the Stars, George Braziller, 1954, pp. 220-221.