” He threw his head back. He will let you live if it pleases him. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. "I yield to fate. I wished to control the weather, to possess infinite wealth, and to understand the substances of the earth. ‘Precisely. His tone was rough, almost threatening. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care.
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