But she was, just as surely as I
am writing this book and you are reading it. I mean just as surely as
I am writing it. I am not sure yet whether you are reading it or not.
But Terence! Well, the less said about him the better. Still, I
suppose, I shall have to say something. He did every one of the things
that I have just mentioned. And it wasn't because he didn't know any
better; he seemed to like to do them, just because he knew that they
were wrong. When he was a baby he was more trouble than twins, and bad
twins at that. He cried all the time, except when he was eating or
sleeping, and he slept only a little of the time and ate a great deal
of it. He always seemed to be just about so sick, but it never hurt
his appetite and he never got any sicker. After a while Ellen got used
to his being sick, and she always said that he was delicate, poor
child, and that was why he was so cross and so much trouble.
"And is that why he eats so much?" Mrs. O'Brien would ask.
"I dunno about that," Ellen would answer; "I think it's the kind of
sickness that's on him that makes him eat so much.
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