[The Black Prophet: A Tale Of Irish Famine by William Carleton]@TWC D-Link book
The Black Prophet: A Tale Of Irish Famine

CHAPTER I
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Two or three stools, a pot or two, one miserable standing bed, and a smaller one gathered up under a rug in the corner, were almost all that met the eye on entering it; and simple as these meagre portions of furniture were, they bore no marks of cleanliness or care.

On the contrary, everything appeared to be neglected, squalid and filthy--such, precisely, as led one to see at a glance that the inmates of this miserable hut were contented with their wretched state of life, and had no notion whatsoever that any moral or domestic duty existed, by which they might be taught useful notions of personal comfort and self-respect.
"So," said the young woman, addressing her step-mother, as she entered, "you're come back at last, an' a purty time you tuck to stay away!" "Well," replied the other, calmly, "I'm here now at any rate; but I see you're in one of your tantrums, Sally, my lady.

What's wrong, I say?
In the mean time don't look as if you'd ait us widout salt." "An' a bitter morsel you'd be," replied the younger, with a flashing glance--"divil a more so.

Here am I, sittin', or running out an' in, these two hours, when I ought to be at the dance in Kilnahushogue, before I go to Barny Gormly's wake; for I promised to be at both.

Why didn't you come home in time ?" "Bekaise, achora, it wasn't agreeable to me to do so.


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