The voices justabout pierced through her ; an ' there was children 's voices too . She stood out all she could , but she could n't rightly stand against that . So she says : `` If you can draw my sons for your job , I 'll not hinder 'em . You ca n't ask no more of a Mother . '' ` She saw them liddle green lights dance an ' cross till she was dizzy ; she heard them liddle feet patterin ' by the thousand ; she heard cruel Canterbury Bells ringing to Bulverhithe , an ' she heard the great Tide-wave ranging along the Wall . That was while the Pharisees was workin ' a Dream to wake her two sons asleep : an ' while she bit on her fingers she saw them two she 'd bore come out an ' pass her with never a word . She followed 'em , cryin ' pitiful , to the old boat on the Wall , an ' that they took an ' runned down to the sea . ` When they 'd stepped mast an ' sail the blind son speaks : `` Mother , we 're waitin ' your Leave an ' Good-will to take Them over . '' ' Tom Shoesmith threw back his head and half shut his eyes . ` Eh , me ! ' he said . ` She was a fine , valiant woman , the Widow Whitgift . She stood twistin ' the eends of her long hair over her fingers , an ' she shook like a poplar , makin ' up her mind . The Pharisees all about they hushed their children from cryin ' an ' they waited dumb-still . She was all their dependence . ` Thout her Leave an ' Good-will they could not pass ; for she was the Mother . So she shook like a aps-tree makin ' up her mind . ` Last she drives the word past her teeth , an ' `` Go ! '' she says . `` Go with my Leave an ' Goodwill . ''
` Then I saw -- then , they say , she had to brace back same as if she was wadin ' in tide-water ; for the XXXXX just about flowed past her -- down the beach to the boat , I dunnamany of 'em -- with their wives an ' childern an ' valooables , all escapin ' out of cruel Old England .
Bulverhithe Mother Pharisees Shoesmith Tide-wave Wall Whitgift makin patterin twistin