‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. " Amazed at the boy's assurance, Wood left off boxing his ears for a moment, and, looking at him steadfastly, said in a grave tone, "Jack, Jack, you'll come to be hanged!" "Better be hanged than hen-pecked," retorted the lad with a malicious grin. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. "Thank you," she said, and left the office.
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