'—'No fear o' that,' thought I. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. ‘But you will not be in a convent. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. "Well, I'm glad she's spared this.
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