er coach.
Barrels bumped in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside.
The bungholes sprang open and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing
together, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy
pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth.

He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. Stepping into the porch
he doffed his hat, took the card from his pocket and tucked it again
behind the leather headband. Damn it. I might have tried to work M'Coy
for a pass to Mullingar.

Same notice on the door. Sermon by the very reverend John Conmee S.J.
on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the African Mission. Prayers for the
conversion of Gladstone they had too when he was almost unconscious. The
protestants are the same. Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the true
religion. Save China's millions. Wonder how they explain it to the
heathen Chinee. Prefer an ounce of opium. Celestials. Rank heresy for
them. Buddha their god lying on his side in the museum. Taking it easy
with hand under his cheek. Josssticks burning. Not like Ecce Homo. Crown
of thorns and cross. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Chopsticks?
Conmee: Martin Cunningham knows him: distinguishedlooking. Sorry I
didn't work him about getting Molly into the choir instead of that
Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. They're taught that. He's
not going out in bluey specs with the sweat rolling off him to baptise
blacks, is he? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Like to see
them sitting round in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. Still
life. Lap it up like milk, I suppose.

The cold smell of sacred stone called him. He trod the worn steps,
pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the rere.

Something going on: some sodality. Pity so empty. Nice discreet place
to be next some girl. Who is my neighbour? Jammed by the hour to slow
music. That woman at midnight mass. Seventh heaven. Women knelt in the
benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. A batch
knelt at the altarrails. The priest went along by them, murmuring,
holding the thing in his hands. He stopped at each, took out a
communion, shook a drop or two (are they in water?) off it and put it
neatly into her mouth. Her hat and head sank. Then the next one. Her hat
sank at once. Then the next one: a small old woman. The priest bent down
to put it into her mouth, murmuring all the time. Latin. The next one.
Shut your eyes and op