'
"'An' whin that time comes,' sez he, 'I'll come to you for ghostly
consolation, Father Terence,' an' at that he wint off afther some
more divil's business - for to get expayrience, he tould me. He
was wicked - rank wicked - wicked as all Hell! I'm not construct
by nature to go in fear av any man, but, begad, I was afraid av
Larry. He'd come in to barricks wid his cap on three hairs, an'
lie on his cot and stare at the ceilin', and now an' again he'd
fetch a little laugh, the like av a splash in the bottom av a
well, an' by that I knew he was schamin' new wickedness, an' I'd
be afraid. All this was long an' long ago, but ut hild me straight
- for a while.
"I tould you, did I not, Sorr, that I was caressed an' pershuaded
to lave the Tyrone on account av a throuble?"
"Something to do with a belt and a man's head, wasn't it?" Terence
had never given me the exact facts.
"It was. Faith, ivry time I go on prisoner's gyard in coort I
wondher fwhy I am not where the pris'ner is. But the man I struk
tuk it in fair fight, an' he had the good sinse not to die.
Considher now, fwhat wud ha' come to the Arrmy if he had! I was
enthreated to exchange, an' my Commandin' Orf'cer pled wid me.
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