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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Go home," sez I, to the sais; "you'll find a man close here. Very sick he is. Take him away, an' av you iver say wan wurrd about fwhat you've dekkoed, I'll marrow you till your own wife won't sumjao who you are!" Thin I heard the stampin' av feet at the ind av the play, an' I ran in to let down the curtain.
"He was a quick man an' a just, an' saw fwhat I wud be afther. 'Wid Mrs. Bragin's husband, sez he. He might ha' known by me askin' that favor that I had done him no wrong. "We wint to the back av the arsenal an' I stripped to him, an' for ten minutes 'twas all I cud do to prevent him killin' himself against my fistes.
'Wid that I slipped my arm round her waist, for, begad, I fancied she had surrindered at discretion, an' the honours av war were mine. "Fwhat nonsinse is this?" sez she, dhrawin' hersilf up on the tips av her dear little toes. "Wid the mother's milk not dhry on your impident mouth? Let go!" she sez.
'Well an' far out av harm was a Sargint av the Tyrone sittin' on the little orf'cer bhoy who had stopped Crook from rowlin' the rocks. Oh, he was a beautiful bhoy, an' the long black curses was slidin' out av his innocint mouth like mornin'-jew from a rose! "Fwhat have you got there?" sez I to the Sargint. "Wan av Her Majesty's bantams wid his spurs up," sez he. "He's goin' to Coort-martial me."
"Are you sure you've got the hang av the manewvers?" sez he, or wurrds to that effec', as the coort-martial sez. "Sure as death," sez she, "but I misdoubt 'tis cruel hard on my father." "Damn your father," sez he, or anyways 'twas fwhat he thought, "the arrangement is as clear as mud.
Up my back, an' in my boots, an' in the short hair av the neck that's where I kape my eyes whim I'm on duty an' the reg'lar wans are fixed. Know! Take my word for it, sorr, ivrything an' a great dale more is known in a rig'mint; or fwhat wud be the use av a Mess Sargint, or a Sargint's wife doin' wet-nurse to the Major's baby? To reshume.
"A brave man you are," thinks I "a brave man an' a bad woman." 'No wan said a word for a time. They was all ashamed, past spache. "Fwhat d'you think he will do?" sez wan av thim at last. "He knows we're all in ut." "Are we so?" sez I from my cot. "The man that sez that to me will be hurt.
She dabbed at the false-front of red hair, which had become somewhat disarranged. "La, la!" she murmured, "I'm all of a twitter!" "Some hand-out tu," remarked Slavin politely, "from th' face av um. . . . Fwhat was ut ye handed him, Mishtress Lee, might I ask? th' flat-iron or th' rollin' pin?" "I did not!" the dame retorted indignantly.
'Twas more av a rakin' plough, if you will ondherstand, than a clean cut; an' niver did I see a man bleed as Vulmea did, The dhrink an' the stew that he was in pumped the blood strong. The minut' the men sittin' on my chest heard O'Hara spakin' they scatthered each wan to his cot, an' cried out very politeful: 'Fwhat is ut, Sargint? "'Fwhat is ut! sez O'Hara. shakin' Tim.
Thin, right smash into our rear, came fwhat was left av the Jock Elliotts wid four pipers an' not half a kilt among thim, playin' for the dear life, an' swingin' their rumps like buck rabbits, an' a native rig'mint shrieking blue murther. Ye niver heard the like. There was men cryin' like women that did an' faith I do not blame thim.
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