“Ye don’t think to count me, an?” said Prudie, rubbing her big red nose. “Thur’s no man born o’ woman I can’t deal with if I’ve the mind. Puffed up pirouettes, that’s what men are. Hit ’em acrost the ’ead wi’ a soup ladle, an’ what happens? They crawl away as if you’d ’urt ’em.”
Ahh Jud and Prudie! Quote continued in next below...
