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Updated: June 4, 2025
The whole thing had happened so quickly that the rich light from the west was still bronzing the edges of the flat-ledged furze boughs, and rosing their white stems, when the little hollow behind the Joyces' house rested quiet and deserted, with no traces left of the company lately there assembled, except a litter of silky white bog-cotton tufts, soon to be swept away by the breeze, and the unchancy yellow ribbon, which had been torn out of Denis's cap, and lay coiling among the rough grass, whence, as the dusk thickened, it glinted like the wraith of a lost sunbeam or a ray from an evil star.
Denis's injury, though so grave, happily did not seem to be mortal, in fact, on this occasion young Dan O'Beirne, albeit scarcely more than a spalpeen, displayed a handiness and resource about bandaging and other remedies, which foreshadowed his future reputation throughout the district for knowledgableness in surgery and medicine.
Lucy, looking at his up-turned, foreshortened, cleanly-modelled face, thought with half of her mind what a perfect thing it was. Sudden aspects of Denis's beauty sometimes struck her breathless, as they struck Peter. "The Margerison family wants money, I understand," said Denis, who hadn't been listening attentively. "Very badly, Denis." Denis nodded.
Leading me mysteriously aside, he showed certificates from the officials at Le Plateau, dating from 1859, recommending him strongly as a shipbroker for collecting emigrants libres, and significantly adding, les negres ne manquent pas. Petit Denis's face was a study when I told him that, being an Englishman, a dozen negroes were not worth to me a single "Njina."
"They were Denis's letters. I didn't shoot the grouse, dear darlings, nor send them." "What were your letters, then?" "Well, I sent rowan berries, didn't I? Weren't they red?" "Yes. Even Thomas read them. We're being rather funny, aren't we? Is Denis going on with Parliament again this autumn, or has he begun to get tired of it?" "Not a bit tired of it.
Nelly had to be much out-of-doors, as the dogs were clamorous for walks, and she kept her roses in London with the old milkmaid sweetness. There was one happening of the quiet day that stood out for Sir Denis, and, although he did not know it, for his daughter also. Sir Denis's old regiment happened to be stationed at a barracks in the immediate neighbourhood.
He had also made out, it is presumed with the aid of his affianced, that some other motive was probably ensuring their attendance than merely that of doing honour to his, Denis's, nuptials.
They then got a due share of whiskey; and it was curious, after they came out, their faces a little flushed, and their eyes watery with the strong, ardent spirits, to hear with what heartiness and alacrity they entered into Denis's praises.
Well, Mave, I hope that my eyes may be closed by the hands I loved an' love so well an' that's your own, agrab machree, an' Denis's." "Whisht, Denis asthore," said Mave, wiping her eyes, "I hope I'll never see that day.
When the priest put the question, Denis's brother, who Was a wealthy man, came forward, and laid down two guineas on the altar; the priest took this up, and putting it on a plate, set out among the multitude, accompanied by two or three of those who were best acquainted with the inhabitants of the parish.
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