That don't look good to Casey Ryan.

If yuh wanta get out--if they got yuh held a prisoner here, or anything like 'that, you can trust Casey Ryan any old time.

Is--can I do anything for yuh, ma'am ?" The old woman dropped her hands to her lap and held them there, closely clasped.

Her head swung slowly round until she was looking at Casey with that awful, fixed stare she had heretofore directed at the wall or the floor.
"Tell those hell-hounds they have a thousand years to burn--every one of them!" she said in a deep, low voice that had in it a singing resonance like a chant.

"Every cat, every rat, every mouse, every louse, has a thousand year's to burn.