"'Good-bye, Terence,' sez Love-o'-Women. "Tis a dead man I am
widout the pleasure av dyin'. You'll come an' set wid me sometimes
for the peace av my soul.'
"Now I had been minded to ask Cruik to take me back to the Ould
Rig'mint, for the fightin' was over, an' I was wore out wid the
ways av the bhoys in the Tyrone; but I shifted my will, an' hild
on, an' wint to set wid Love-o'-Women in the hospital. As I have
said, Sorr, the man bruk all to little pieces undher my hand. How
long he had hild up an' forced himself fit to march I cannot tell,
but in hospital but two days later he was such as I hardly knew. I
shuk hands wid him, an' his grip was fair strong, but his hands
wint all ways to wanst, an' he cud not button his tunic.
"'I'll take long an' long to die yet,' he sez, 'for the ways av
sin they're like interest in the rig'mintal savin's-bank - sure,
but a damned long time bein' paid.'
"The docthor sez to me quiet one day, 'Has Tighe there anythin' on
his mind?' he sez. 'He's burnin' himself out.'
"'How shud I know, Sorr?' I sez, as innocent as putty.
"They call him Love-o'-Women in the Tyrone, do they not?' he sez.
'I was a fool to ask. Be wid him all you can. He's houldin' on to
your strength.
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