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"That's ower again what I'm compleenin' o'! an' gien it war onybody but yersel' 'at has a richt, I wad be angry, Aggie." "Cosmo," said Agnes solemnly, "ye're ower saft-hertit to the women-fowk. I do believe an' I tell ye't again in as mony words ye wad merry onylass raither nor see her in trible on your accoont." "Ance mair, Aggie, what gies ye a richt to think sae ill o' me?" demanded Cosmo.
'Haith, he's luikin 'maist like ither fowk! 'I'm thinkin the deevil maun hae gane oot o' him! said another, and several joined in with their remarks. 'Nae muckle o' a deevil was there to gang oot! He was aye an unco hairmless cratur! 'And that saft-hertit til a' leevin thing! 'He was that!
Gin ye touch that bottle again, faith, I'll brain ye, and sen' ye into the ither warl' withoot that handle at least for Sawtan to catch a grip o' ye by. And there may be a handle somewhaur o' the richt side o' ye for some saft-hertit angel to lay han' upo' and gie ye a lift whaur ye ill deserve to gang, ye thrawn buckie! Efter a' that I hae said to ye! Damn ye!"
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