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"'Mortised with the sacred garlic," he muttered, with the usual dry twinkle in his eyes. Ben caught the last word. "It's a good yarb, garlic," he said, confusedly. "Uses it on hot coals mostly, under broilin' steaks. Well, good night. He's a queer chap, though," after he had gone out, "beyond me."
Donovan, an' I'm obliged to you, Fardorougha, for the wather; but I'm not a bit weak; it's only the heat o' the day ails me for sure enough it's broilin' weather." "'Deed it is," replied Honora, "kill in' weather to them that has to be out undher it." "If it's good for nothin' else, it's good for, the hay makin'," observed Fardorougha.
He then resumed his labor, in order that the meeting between him and Bartle might take place with less embarrassment, for he saw at once that the former was about to speak to him. "Isn't the weather too hot, Connor, to work bareheaded? I think you ought to keep on your hat." "Bartle, how are you? off or on, it's the same thing; hat or no hat, it's broilin' weather, the Lord be praised!
Love I wanted and admirin' I wanted, but no pity; that thar set me broilin'. But now I'd e'en a'most ruther have pity than love; 'nd I thank God most o' all that, in my pride and in my stren'th, and not wantin' no help an' gittin' mad at the thought of it all'as He pitied me, an' He pitied me cl'ar through to the end.
"Oh, there's plenty of room," Lucy answered, "only hadn't you better drop me here? My my aunt is at home." "I don't care," Martin retorted with the same abandon. "I ain't goin' to have you plod up that long driveway in the broilin' sun aunt or no aunt." He laughed boyishly. "It's awfully good of you. But please, if you mind coming, don't; for indeed I "
It was a broilin' 'ot day, and I was tired, 'avin' been stoopin' over the baskits since four in the morning, and as I put the leaves over the plums I touched 'em; they felt so lovely and cool, and looked so juicy-like, I felt I must eat one, and I did; there was just six on 'em, and when I'd bin and eat one, there seemed such a empty place left in the punnit, that I knew father'd be sure to see it, so I eat 'em all, and then threw the punnit to one side.
Father Gibault, he said, had sent him to ask M. Roussillon to come to the river house, as he had news of great importance to communicate. "Ah, well, Oncle Jazon, we'll have a nip of brandy together before we go," said the host. "Why, yes, jes' one agin' the broilin' weather," assented Oncle Jazon; "I don't mind jes' one."
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