"Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. "I see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. "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. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it.
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