Many workers were killed as they squeezed into a trackside niche or the narrow space between tracks to get out of the way of an oncoming train […].

“You'ins is our army, our only way now to find our little grandson,” the old man said, wiping a tear from his eye. […] “We'ins want to help,” he said with tears again welling up in his eyes.

Ya'll only ever be Xavier Cassidy's work horse. He won't treat ya right.

A want of sense.