[Maire]
You are sixteen years old. You are making your way up the hillside path, following behind your Aunt Maire and her black-and-white sheepdog, Misty. The leaves of the trees glow green in the light of the mellow, golden summer sunshine.
"They've got a bit of a reputation, the Red O'Donnells," Maire comments. She is a spare, sharp-featured woman with metal-rimmed glasses and graying dark hair cut short. She strides along, speaking without looking back, forcing you and Misty to scramble to keep up. "But Terry's all right and he's got a boy about your age, Cormac, and he's a good lad. Terry's had to look after him all alone ever since his wife died, and he hasn't done a bad job, under the circumstances. Anyway, Aunty has things to do today so Aunty is abandoning you. I'm sure you'll become fast friends with Cormac and have a splendid time. And if you don't, it'll be good fodder for the misery memoir that will make you millions twenty years from now."
"I think I'll call it Get Me Out Of Here: A Summer in Ireland."
"What do you mean, a 'reputation'? What kind of reputation do the O'Donnells have?"
"I'm sure I'll be fine, Aunt Maire."
I don't respond, focusing instead on the path ahead.
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