"Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. Then he turned to Anna. Now what I want you to feel is this. ‘Don’t dare address me by such a title. Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. "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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