CHAPTER XII. ” The lady in black satin looked at the pile of luggage outside and hesitated. It is not possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight. "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. I didn’t know. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. What have you got to say?" "Too much," replied Kneebone, shaking his head; "sadly too much.
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