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"Let her thry," says old Brian, in his soft, Irish brogue, that comes kindly from his tongue. "She's mighty clever about most things." "You will be near too, Geoffrey?" murmurs Mona, falteringly. "To the old fort?" asks Mona, starting to her feet..
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Now, Mickey's idea of "raal grand" scenery is the kitchen fire. Bays and rocks and moonlight, and such like comfortless stuff, would be designated by him as "all my eye an' Betty Martin." He would consider the bluest water that ever rolled a poor thing if compared to the water that boiled in the big kettle, and sadly inferior to such cold water as might contain a "dhrop of the crather." So no wonder he views with dismay Mr. Rodney's evident intention of spending another half hour or so on the top of Carrick dhuve. "I feel it keenly," says Rodney, caressing the handsome creatures as they crouch at his feet. "Where did you get them?" "The cold chaste moon, the queen of heaven's bright isles, "Thank ye, miss. Ye mane it kindly, I know," says the woman, wearily. "But the big world is too small to hold one dhrop of comfort for me. He's dead, ye see!".
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