"I will have it now," rejoined Trenchard, "or our agreement is void. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. Had she said the words aloud? He pulled her close and she nuzzled her head on his chest. O'Higgins was all that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulky policeman in civilian clothes. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. ” She gave herself permission now to look at this squarely.
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