It's early days for 'em as yet.

And t' cursed old press-gang's agate again, doing its devil's work!' His face changed as he ended his speech, and showed a steady passion of old hatred.
'Ay, missus, yo' may look.

I wunnot pick and choose my words, noather for yo' nor for nobody, when I speak o' that daumed gang.
I'm none ashamed o' my words.

They're true, and I'm ready to prove 'em.

Where's my forefinger?
Ay! and as good a top-joint of a thumb as iver a man had?
I wish I'd kept 'em i' sperits, as they done things at t' 'potticary's, just to show t' lass what flesh and bone I made away wi' to get free.