Old Hobden let himself down on the coals by the fire-door . ' I was courtin ' my woman on the Marsh that year . Carter to Mus ' Plum I was , gettin ' ten shillin 's week . Mine was a Marsh woman . ' ` Won ` erful odd-gates place -- Romney Marsh , ' said Tom Shoesmith . ` I 've heard say the world 's divided like into Europe , Ashy , Afriky , Ameriky , Australy , an ' Romney Marsh . ' ` The Marsh folk think so , ' said Hobden . ' I had a hem o ' trouble to get my woman to leave it . ' ` Where did she come out of ? I 've forgot , Ralph . ' ` Dymchurch under the Wall , ' Hobden answered , a potato in his hand . ` Then she 'd be a Pett -- or a Whitgift , would she ? ' ` Whitgift . ' Hobden broke open the potato and ate it with the curious neatness of men who make most of their meals in the blowy open . ` She growed to be quite reasonable-like after livin ' in the Weald awhile , but our first twenty year or two she was odd-fashioned , no bounds . And she was a won ` erful hand with bees . ' He cut away a little piece of potato and threw it out to the door . ` Ah ! I 've heard say the Whitgifts could see further through a millstone than most , ' said Shoesmith . ` Did she , now ? '
` She was honest-innocent of any nigromancin ' , ' said XXXXX .
Dymchurch Europe Hobden Mus Pett Ralph Whitgifts blowy livin shillin