Wood, "and take your son with you. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. She's too pretty and unusual. “For no other reason than you talk too much. "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. ” She let him make love to her that night. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob.
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