dimber mort

“Tip me the clank, like a dimber mort as you are; trim a ken for the gentry cove; he is no lanspresado, or I am a kinchin.”

“Look'ee Benno, if you're a-hiding of some dimber mort aloft there I'm the cove to——”

“Liz, he says, why trine for a make, when you can wap for a winne. I'm no dimber mort, I says. Don't ask you to be a swell mollisher, sister, coves want Miss Laycock, don't look at your mug. So I begin to sell my mother of saints.”