If the French want to fight us, why don't they do it square and honest, not be racing and chasing about like a lot of wild sheep." "Have you seen the moonshee, Tim?
He is with the baggage." "Shure and I saw him," Tim said.

"The cart come in just now, and there was he, perched up on the top of it like a dried monkey.

You don't want him tonight, shure, yer honor." "Oh no, I don't want him, Tim.

You'd better go now, and get to sleep at once, if you can.

We may be off again, at any minute." Arcot is twenty-seven miles from Conjeveram.