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No, I'm sure there's no salt goes in at all; that's against reason, an' ye'll notice that the principles of philosophy go into all the ways of life. And, lastly, makin', as I may say, the roundin' out of the muscular and adipose tissue of the crayture, as the sowl of the pie we must have the apples. It's a sin to waste 'em peelin'; but I think they used to peel 'em, too.
Could nothing be done for him now, Father Roach? says I, looking up in the priest's face. "'I'm greatly afraid, Mickey, he was a bad man, a very bad man. "'And ye think he'll go there? says I. "'Indeed, Mickey, I have my fears. "'Upon my conscience, says I, 'I believe you're right; he was always a restless crayture. "'But it doesn't depind on him, says the priest, crossly.
"To till the truth an' shame the divvle, colonel, the poor ould crayture, whose complaint we couldn't underconstumble at all at all, sure, was sufferin' from a fit of apoplexy a thing aisy enough to recognise by any docther of experience, though, faith, it moight have been Grake to us!"
The sexton and gravedigger was nothing to my father; and he had a look about his eye to be sure there was a reason for it that you'd think he was up all night crying; though it's little indulgence he took that way. "Well, of all Mr. Callaghan's men, there was none so great a favorite as my father. The neighbors were all fond of him. "'A kind crayture, every inch of him! the women would say.
"Teaching her Irish! for Heaven's sake, what use can she make of Irish?" "Ah, the crayture, she doesn't know better; and as she was always bothering me to learn her English, I promised one day to do it; but ye see, somehow, I never was very proficient in strange tongues; so I thought to myself Irish will do as well. So, you perceive, we're taking a course of Irish literature, as Mr.
She lives jist out of Dame Strate, sure, in Abbey Lane. Any one'll till ye the place, sure! "`What say you to goin' to say the poor crayture? says I to Terence Mahony. `We'll lave word where we're gone, an' I'm sure Mr Lancett will be plaised to hear we're looking afther the ould lady!
But though she was breythin' hard loike a grampus, she didn't spake nothin'! "`What's the mather, my good woman? says Mahony, going up to her an' spaking kindly to the poor crayture. `Let me feel your pulse. "He caught hold of her hand, which hung down the side of the chere and fumbled at the wrist for some toime, the ould woman starin' an' sayin' nothin' at all at all!
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