" "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. But his grief was of short duration. “Really?” “Would not let it go. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer.