A pale sunlight showed the yellow curtains drawn back, the tossed beds. Davin rose from his box and went towards the players, shaking his head sadly. The soutane sleeve swished again as the pandybat was lifted and a loud crashing sound and a fierce maddening tingling burning pain made his hand shrink together with the palms and fingers in a livid quivering mass. That is the question I am going to try to answer, in order, if I may, to interpret the occasion.
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