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  <updated>2026-04-03T22:25:29+01:00</updated>
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    <name>admin</name>
    <email>niwa@bt48.com</email>
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  <entry>
    <id>995</id>
    <title>Lingard150</title>
    <updated>Tuesday, September 6, 2016 - 10:51</updated>
    <link href="https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/node/%25/atom"/>
    <collections>Chapter 15</collections>
    <contributor>Lingard Estate</contributor>
    <coverage>1972</coverage>
    <creator>Linen Hall Library</creator>
    <date>Thursday, March 10, 2016</date>
    <format>TIFF</format>
    <identifier>Lingard150</identifier>
    <itemdescription>Manuscript</itemdescription>
    <keywords>Ulster, Westminster</keywords>
    <language>English</language>
    <path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/lingard150</path>
    <publisher>Linen Hall Library</publisher>
    <relation>Linen Hall Library</relation>
    <rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</rights>
    <scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Lingard150_1.jpg</scannedimage>
    <source>LHL Archive</source>
    <transcript>﻿142

&quot;I&#039;m going out.” It was an announcement; no one would stop him.

&quot;Well, don&#039;t go killing yourself trailing around the streets,”
said his father, breaking off in the midst of a dissertation on
the treatment of Ulster by the Westminster governnment. ”Y No wonder
a pair of shoes never lasts long on your feet.”

Kevin walked out.

&quot;Be careful, Kevin,” Brede called after him.

&quot;Albert, they can send the whole of the Biritish army over here
and it&#039;ll not solve a thing,” said Mr McCoy.

&quot;Aye, you&#039;re right, Pete, you&#039;re right.”

&quot;Da, I think I&#039;m worried about Kevin,” said Brede.

&quot;Sure you&#039;re always worrying about something. Just like your
mother.”

&quot;But I think he&#039;s away out to get the one that framed him.”

Mr McCoy turned in his seat. &quot;Kate MaloneKelly?&quot;

&quot;Not her.”

&quot;Who then? Does/he know who put that box in the yard?”

Brede shrugged. Her face flushed. She went to the sink to start
the washing up.

&quot;Do you know, Brede?” demanded her father.

&quot;Me? How would I know?” she asked. &quot;I&#039;ll just go and take a look
for the milkman.”

She went to the front door and stoodout on to the pavement. Kevin was
going slowly down the street, sauntering almost, like one who had
nothing/in particular to do. As he drew level with the Raffertys&#039;
</transcript>
    <type>Text</type>
    <updateddate>Tuesday, September 6, 2016 - 10:51</updateddate>
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