The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. “My wife. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. “John?” He turned around in the recliner. "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 ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. "Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it.
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