She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. ” “That brings us back,” said Ann Veronica, “to the mystery. "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. There are way-stations—even terminals. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica.
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