’ ‘How could he when he didn’t even handle it himself? Went off, I told you, and left it all to me. "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. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. A creeping numbness invaded her. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind.
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