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"Sure, I told you he'd find his way here But, O'Mealey, dear, you're mighty could, a rigor, as old M'Lauchlan would call it." "E'en sae, Maister Quill," said a broad Scotch accent behind him; "and I canna see ony objection to giein' things their right names." "The top of the morning to you," said Quill, familiarly patting him on the back; "how goes it, old Brimstone?"
Safe out and come again; no getting away under pretence of foreign service; no excuse for not marrying by any cruel pictures of the colonies, where they make spatch-cocks of the officers' wives and scrape their infant families to death with a small tooth-comb. In a word, my dear O'Mealey, we were at a high premium; and even O'Shaughnessy, with his red head and the legs you see, had his admirers.
O'Mealey," so he called me, "I think. Happy to meet you; my mother was a Ryan of Killdooley, married to a first cousin of your father's before she took Mr. Quill, my respected progenitor. I'm Dr. Quill of the 48th, more commonly called Maurice Quill. Tear and ages! how sore my back is! It was all the fault of the baste, Mr. O'Mealey.
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