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"I hope not, indeed," says Mona giving him her hand with a very flattering haste. "Oh! Paddy," she says, as a small figure, unkempt, and only half clad, creeps through the hedge and stops short in her path. "I don't think I understand you," she says, at length, gravely. "Where would the rest of her be, if she wasn't all in the same place?".
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The old man went to the camp and told his daughters of the meat that their husband had killed, and they went down to the killing ground. Then he went to his own lodge and said to his wife, "Hurry, now, put the stone kettle on the fire. I have brought home something from the killing." Three Bulls, chief of the camp, was a great man. He had a fierce temper, and when he spoke, people hurried to do what he ordered, for they feared him. He never talked loud nor called any one by an ill name. When any one displeased him or refused to do what he said he just smiled and then killed the person. He was brave. In battle with enemies he was the equal of twenty men, rushing here, there, into the thickest of the fights, and killing—always with that silent, terrible smile on his face. Because he was such a great warrior, and also because he was generous, helping the poor, feasting any who came to his lodge, he was the head chief of the Blackfeet. "No, it is of no use: it only wearies me. My best medicine, my only medicine, is here," returns Paul, feebly pressing Mona's hand. He is answering the doctor, but he does not look at him. As he speaks, his gaze is riveted upon Mona. "Then, no doubt, she heaped upon you priceless gems of Irish wit in her mother-tongue?".
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