maid to some big lady in the Station. She's dead now is Annie
Bragin--died in child-bed at Kirpa Tal, or ut may ha' been
Almorah--seven--nine years gone, an' Bragin he married agin. But she
was a pretty woman whin Bragin inthrojuced her to cantonmint society.
She had eyes like the brown av a buttherfly's wing whin the sun catches
ut, an' a waist no thicker than my arm, an' a little sof' button av
a mouth I would ha' gone through all Asia bristlin' wid bay'nits to
get the kiss av. An' her hair was as long as the tail av the Colonel's
charger--forgive me mentionin' that blunderin' baste in the same
mouthful with Annie Bragin--but'twas all shpun gold, an' time was when
a lock av ut was more than di'monds to me. There was niver pretty woman
yet, an' I've had thruck wid a few, cud open the door to Annie Bragin.

''Twas in the Cath'lic Chapel I saw her first, me oi rolling round as
usual to see fwhat was to be seen.

"You're too good for Bragin, my love," thinks I to mesilf, "but that's
a mistake I can put straight, or my name is not Terence Mulvaney."

'Now take my wurrd for ut, you Orth'ris there an' Learoyd, an' kape
out av the Married Quarters--as I did not. No good iver comes av ut,
an' there's always the chance av your bein' found wid your face in the
dirt, a long picket in the back av your head, an' your hands playing
the fifes on the tread av another man's doorstep. 'Twas so we found
O'Hara, he that Rafferty killed six years gone, when he wint to his
death wid his hair oiled, whistlin' _Larry O'Rourke_ betune his teeth.
Kape out av the Married Quarters, I say, as I did not. 'Tis onwholesim,
'tis dangerous, an' 'tis ivrything else that's bad, but--O my sowl,
'tis swate while ut lasts!