Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. "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. ‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension.
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