CIIAPTEE TI 



Danny Quin was to be buried that after- 

 noon. It was the third day of the wake, 

 and his house, always dependent for light 

 on its open door, was dark with the crowd 

 of people inside and outside the threshold. 

 In the corner of the kitchen, behind the 

 brute obstruction of human beings, awkward 

 and inert with stale drink, half-a-dozen 

 candles made a garish night-time round the 

 dead man. He lay with, the yellow flicker 

 on his steadfast face, a presence of extraor- 

 dinary refinement and soulful trance among 

 his late fellows. He was an old man, in 

 his lifetime a driver of hard bargains, a 

 teller of old tales in which his own sagacity, 

 uprightness, and povv^er of repartee were 



unflinchingly set forth. Here his super- 

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