Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. Let her have her own way in all things, for she will always be just. ‘Here she is. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another.
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