And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. ’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. " "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. "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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