When a man comes in hungry an' tired, piety won't feed him, I reckon.

Hard carrots 'ull lie heavy on his stomach, piety or no piety.

I called in one day when she was dishin' up Mr.Tryan's dinner, an' I could see the potatoes was as watery as watery.
It's right enough to be speritial--I'm no enemy to that; but I like my potatoes mealy.

I don't see as anybody 'ull go to heaven the sooner for not digestin' their dinner--providin' they don't die sooner, as mayhap Mr.Tryan will, poor dear man!' 'It will be a heavy day for us all when that comes to pass,' said Mrs.
Pettifer.

'We shall never get anybody to fill up _that_ gap.