” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?. I have now settled my affairs, and made every preparation for my departure to France, where I shall spend the remainder of my days. "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. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. He wore a black tail coat buttoned tightly over his chest, and a large diamond pin sparkled in a white satin tie which had seen better days. The months that followed September spiraled downward.
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