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Sure it houlds sich a hard grip of his poor sowl, that it'll be the destruction of him here an' hereafther. It'll kill him afore his time, an' then I thrimble to think of his chance above." "The object is a good one, sure enough, an' it bein' for a spiritual purpose the priest won't object to it." "Why would he, dear, an' it for the good of his sowl?
All his strength appeared to have departed from him; he stood, as if hesitating, and even energy necessary to stand seemed to be the result of an effort. "Remember," said Darby, pulling out the large crucifix which was attached to his heads, "that the eye of God is upon you. If you've committed the murdher, thrimble; if not, Frank, you've little to fear in touchin' the corpse."
"Who is coming?" she exclaimed, whilst the paleness of death and terror settled in her face; "for God's mercy, Raymond, who is coming?" "I saw them," said he; "I saw them. Come come fast I'll help you don't thrimble don't thrimble." "Let us be guided by him," said the priest.
"She was all of a thrimble, as if she'd met a sperrit an' all the words she had was 'I seen it I seen it all, an' she yowlin' like a banshee." "It's quare we didn't take notice to her, for she must ha' been powerful close to see us such a night. I thought I heerd the horn, too, an' I lavin' the yard." She wint out to blow it," whispered Peter. "Most like it was stuck in the shrubbery she was."
He's the boy can make yez thrimble, one an' all o' yez like a dog in a wet sack! An', wid the blessin' o' God, he'll help us to put our feet on your necks afore long!" "That's a prudent speech," observed the jailer; "it will serve you very much." Phelim consigned him to a very warm settlement in reply. "Bring the ruffian off" added the jailer; "put him in solitary confinement."
Your anger and your outrage, Owen, overcame the timid creature. Speak kindly to her, she is recovering. Thank God, she is recovering." "Susy, avourneen," said the father, "rouse yourself, ma colleen; rouse yourself, an' don't thrimble that way. The sorra one o' me's angry wid you, at all at all." "Oh, bring me home," said the poor girl. "Father, dear, have no bad opinion of me.
"I wint out last Choosdah, an' I suppose I must 've freed as much as eight counties in Ireland. All th' la-ads was there. Th' first ma-an I see was Dorgan, the sanyor guarjeen in the Wolfe Tone Lithry Society. He's th' la-ad that have made th' Prince iv Wales thrimble in his moccasins.
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