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Paddy had turned surprisingly sober. "'Clare to God," he said, "I'd pass 'em on the road without knowin' 'em."
"There's a flamin' lad!" Timothy caught one of the middle boys by the hair and pivoted the sleep-loaded head. Transferring his attention to the other of this pair: "There's your livin' spit, Paddy!" Indicating the eldest: "There's your own ould fellah born into the world a second time, devil's black temper an' all!" At the youngest: "Here's Bren?he was crawlin' on the floor the last time you saw him. Ay! Bully pups all."
"Bully pups all!" Paddy echoed loudly. The match went out in his fingers. When there was darkness: "My lawful-got sons!" he said bitterly.
Timothy was in the doorway of the room. "We'll be off now, Paddy," he said.
Paddy joined him.
Timothy said, "One of us'll have to go out by the window. Else she'll spot the bolt drawn."
Paddy said nothing.
"You'll never manage the window twice."
"I'll be after you," Paddy said.
Timothy turned away reluctantly.