But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. "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. The doctor and Anna were left alone.
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