“Twenty-two. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. "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. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries.
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