That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. He waved to her. Besides, didn't I tell you that I giv' him as good as he brought—and better! I jist touched him with my 'Evenin' Star,' as I call this shillelah," said the watchman, flourishing an immense bludgeon, the knob of which appeared to be loaded with lead, "and, by Saint Patrick! down he cum'd like a bullock.
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