"Hush!" she said. “Will you say what you have to say, please, and go. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. "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. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. 271 His parents suggested that he go into therapy. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you.
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