Her dress was slatternly and somewhat dirty.

A soiled linen cap covered a mop of streaky hair, mouse-colored and unkempt.
"He's backset and foreset," she said in a low tone.

"Ey, eye; he's made a sad mull on't." Mrs.Garth purred to herself as she lifted another pile of gorse on to the crackling fire.
Joe answered with a grating laugh, and then with a burr he applied a towel to his face.
"Nay, nay, mother.

He has a gay bit of gumption in him, has Ray.

It'll be no kitten play to catch hold on him, and _they_ know that _they_ do." The emphasis was accompanied by a lowered tone, and a sidelong motion of the head towards a doorway that led out of the kitchen.
"Kitten play or cat play, it's dicky with him; nought so sure, Joey," said Mrs.Garth; and her cold eyes sparkled as she purred again with satisfaction.
"That's what you're always saying," said Joe testily; "but it never comes to anything and never will." "Weel, weel, there's nought so queer as folk," mumbled Mrs.Garth.
Joe seemed to understand his mother's implication.
"I'm moider'd to death," he said, "what with yourself and them.