CHAPTER X. Jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant in his gripe. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. "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. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans.
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