⠀ ⠀ an’ fer the record,, connla's been searchin’ fer ye since he got summoned——if there was any o’ that man from ulster left in ye,, ye’d go an’ speak tae the son ye fuckin’ killed.
⠀ ⠀ ye never got that through yer thick skull——an' I tell ye all th' fookin' time. d'ye no' get why I'm angry? how can ye honestly no' understand whit was wrong wi' that?
⠀ ⠀ whit makes ye think i'm no' a good woman,, eh? I was th' one raisin' YER son,, fer th' record——gave him that golden ring an' everythin' like ye asked——sent him tae ye when he was ready,, 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 jis' like ye asked.
⠀ ⠀ listen,, cú; i'll say yer right. it wasnae yer fault ye had tae go fight,, I get that. but,, I'm still allowed tae be angry when ye run off an’ marry anither lass,, aye?! whit kind o'shite is that when i'm carryin’ YER LAD?!
⠀ ⠀ how th’ hell would ye know if I've gone soft? it's no' like ye knew much aboot me in th'first place——bet if emer was sittin’ here,, ye wouldnae be botherin' yersel' wi' whether i’m soft or no'.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ dickhead.