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Don't you remember that time when we had Norah Mahoney at the school? What fun that was!" "But she got into terrible scrapes, and was practically dismissed," said Alice. "I only hope Kathleen won't be in that style." "But do you know anything about her? The Irish are always so terribly poor." "She is not poor at all.
Some one called, but the words died out in the roar of musketry. The flame of carbines seemed in my very face, the crack of revolvers at my ears. Then a hand jerked me back head first into the debris. I staggered to my knees, only to hear Mahoney shout, "They're coomin', lads, they're coomin'! Howly Mary, we've got 'em now!" "Who's coming?" "Our own fellars, sorr!
Mrs. Mahoney, however, as we soon called her, was a dear, whole-souled, traveled, unaffected New England woman. But Monsieur! Lord! There was no holding him at arm's length. He brooked not resistance. I was wearing a full beard. He said it would never do, carried me perforce below, and cut it as I have worn it ever since.
In a twinkle she and this gentleman had struck up an acquaintance, and much to my displeasure she introduced him to me as "Monsieur Mahoney." I was somewhat mollified when later we were made acquainted with Madame Mahoney. I was not at all preconceived in his favor, nor did Monsieur Mahoney, upon nearer approach, conciliate my simple taste. In person, manners and apparel he was quite beyond me.
The pastors have been the Reverend John Mahoney, the Reverend Peter Connelly, the Reverend James T. McDermott, the Reverend Henry J. Tucker, and the Reverend John O'Brien. In 1833, a free church of the Christian denomination was organized under the ministry of the Reverend Timothy Cole. The experiment proved a failure and the building was afterwards converted to the uses of an armory.
For to see insipid mildness complacently swallowed as an excellent thing, knowing the rich smack of savour proper to the story, is your anecdotal gentleman's annoyance. But if the anecdote had supported him, Sullivan Smith would have let the expletive rest. Major Carew Mahoney capped Mrs.
Mahoney, the celebrated Jesuit, and "Father Prout" of Fraser, knowing everything as those Jesuits are apt to do, came in to us on his way to Rome, pointed out to us that the fever got ahead through weakness, and mixed up with his own kind hand a potion of eggs and port wine; to the horror of our Italian servant, who lifted up his eyes at such a prescription for fever, crying, "O Inglesi!
O'Brien took off his coat and bared his right arm. His under lip still trembled, but he held a tight grip on himself. The captain's penknife was opened and passed to Gorman. "Mahoney, tell me mother what happened to me, if ever ye get back," O'Brien requested. Mahoney nodded. "'Tis black murder, black an' damned," he said. "The b'y's flesh'll do none iv yez anny good. Mark me words.
Fletcher," with another nervous giggle or two. "I have no plans on me mind, only to get out of doors. It's terrible hot, ain't it?" "May I take a walk with you, Miss Mahoney?" It seemed to her that if he had called her Clarice the whole novel would have come true then and there. "I can't be out very late, Mr. Fletcher," said she, with a giggle of delight.
She hurried to Uncle Whittier's store for a package of corn-flakes, she abstractedly listened to Uncle Whittier's denunciation of Martin Mahoney for asserting that the wind last Tuesday had been south and not southwest, she came back along streets that held no surprises nor the startling faces of strangers.
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