Read it through once

CHRISTY. _to himself, counting jugs on dresser._—Half a hundred beyond. Ten there. A score that’s above. Eighty jugs. Six cups and a broken one. Two plates. A power of glasses. Bottles, a school-master’d be hard set to count, and enough in them, I’m thinking, to drunken all the wealth and wisdom of the County Clare. (_He puts down the boot carefully._) There’s her boots now, nice and decent for her evening use, and isn’t it grand brushes she has? (_He puts them down and goes by degrees to the looking-glass._) Well, this’d be a fine place to be my whole life talking out with swearing Christians, in place of my old dogs and cat, and I stalking around, smoking my pipe and drinking my fill, and never a day’s work but drawing a cork an odd time, or wiping a glass, or rinsing out a shiny tumbler for a decent man. (_He takes the looking-glass from the wall and puts it on the back of a chair; then sits down in front of it and begins washing his face._) Didn’t I know rightly I was handsome, though it was the divil’s own mirror we had beyond, would twist a squint across an angel’s brow; and I’ll be growing fine from this day, the way I’ll have a soft lovely skin on me and won’t be the like of the clumsy young fellows do be ploughing all times in the earth and dung. (_He starts._) Is she coming again? (_He looks out._) Stranger girls. God help me, where’ll I hide myself away and my long neck naked to the world? (_He looks out._) I’d best go to the room maybe till I’m dressed again. [_He gathers up his coat and the looking-glass, and runs into the inner room. The door is pushed open, and Susan Brady looks in, and knocks on door._]