"And what are you brewing?" Terence asked again.
"Say egg-shells," Mrs. O'Brien whispered.
"Egg-shells, Terence," Ellen said.
Terence sprang to his feet. "Egg-shells!" he cried. "For near six
thousand years I have lived on this earth, and never till this minute
did I see anybody brew egg-shells!"
Mrs. O'Brien had turned upon him before he had done speaking. "Six
thousand years, is it, that you've been on this earth?" she cried.
"Then go and spend the rest of the years where you spent the six
thousand! You've been long enough here! And send back the child that
was stolen when you came here!"
Terence sprang toward a window. Ellen stood in his way; he struck her
in the face with his open hand and threw her on the floor. After that
nobody saw him but Kathleen. She saw him go toward the window. It was
open just a little crack. Before her very eyes he grew smaller and
smaller, till he scrambled and rolled and slipped through the crack
and was gone.
That very instant the door opened and the Hill Terence came in. He saw
Ellen lying on the floor, and, without noticing anyone else, he went
to her and lifted her up.
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