" "Hush!" replied Mrs. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Lucy wore it every day from then on. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. Blood, they say, won't come out. "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.
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