"Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed.
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