Our blooming friend, the handsome and stalworth Magnolia, having got a
confidential hint from agitated Mrs. Mack, trudged up to the mills, in a
fine frenzy, vowing vengeance on Mary Matchwell, for she liked poor
Sally Nutter well. And when, with all her roses in her cheeks, and her
saucy black eyes flashing vain lightnings across the room in pursuit of
the vanished woman in sable, the Amazon with black hair and slender
waist comforted and pitied poor Sally, and anathematised her cowardly
foe, it must be confessed she looked plaguy handsome, wicked, and
good-natured.
'Mary Matchwell, indeed! _I'll_ match her well, wait a while, you'll see
if I don't. I'll pay her off yet, never mind, Sally, darling. Arrah!
Don't be crying, child, do you hear me. _What's_ that? _Charles?_ Why,
then, is it about Charles you're crying? Charles Nutter? Phiat! woman
dear! don't you think he's come to an age to take care of himself? I'll
hold you a crown he's in Dublin with the sheriff, going to cart that
jade to Bridewell. And why in the world didn't you send for _me_, when
you wanted to discourse with Mary Matchwell? Where was the good of my
poor dear mother? Why, she's as soft as butter.
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