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Bridget raised a commanding finger to the circle about her while she exhibited the golden penny. "Is there any one objectin' to payin' this down for a home?" "What kind of a home?" asked Susan, shrewdly. "Sure the kind ye live in same as other folks have that don't live in horspitals or asylums." "Hurrah!" chorused everybody, and Bridget sighed with relief.
This hadn't occurred to nobody. But his wife was back at him, rill crispy. "'Timothy Toplady, s'she, 'they use churches for horspitals an' refuges, she says. "'They do, says Timothy, solemn, 'they do, in necessity, an' war, an' siege.
"They don't take you without a letter from one of the subscribers. If I was you, now that the weather is fine and you have strength for the walk, I'd go up to Queen Charlotte's. It is up the Edgware Road way, I think. What do you think about to-morrow?" "To-morrow's Sunday." "That makes no matter, them horspitals is open." "I'll go to-morrow when we have washed up."
Sandy did as he was bid; he clasped his hands tightly in front of him. "'Tis no for the faeries," he explained. "Ye see they be hardly needin' ony music, wi' muckle o' their ain. 'Tis for the children the children i' horspitals a bonny song for them to sleepit on." He marked the rhythm a moment with his foot, and hummed it through once to be sure he had it.
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