Jellon Lamb:Forgive me, sir, but I've been stuck here with no one but this sorry sack of Hibernian pig shit for conversation. Poor, poor Dan O'Reilly. Sit, sir. Drink with me. [Charlie cocks his gun and points it to Lamb] Charlie Burns:One more crack about the Irish, Mr. Lamb, and I'll shoot you. Am I clear? Jellon Lamb:Oh, as the waters of Ennis, sir. Let us drink, then, to the Irish. No finer race of men have ever... peeled a potato. [Charlie cocks his gun again and points it to Lamb] Charlie Burns:Do you pray, Mr. Lamb?|