But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. "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. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter.
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