The girl's words were sage.  Irene grudgingly nodded.  Sometimes, though, she did feel like she was drowning.  Not in water, but in soil; the soil of her husband's grave, the dirt that whipped into dervishes and coated every living and dead thing in town, it all seemed to be weighing her down.<br/><br/>She sighed.  "Want to help me get Jedidiah out of here, Cameron?"  She nodded to the man whose head rested on the edge of his pint.  "I'll take you up and show you the baths."  She took a sniff of herself and sighed.  She could use a dunk; even a horse trough would smell better than her dirty clothes, she mused.  "Country's not easy on residents, either, darlin'," she said, trotting out a bit of blarney.  "But, you do get used to it.  At least, by the time you die, you do."  She widened her eyes at Cameron and slid an arm under the man's arm, lifting with a grunt.  "Heavy fucker," she said, pure yankee.