In the soft grey silence he could hear the bump of the balls: and from here and from there through the quiet air the sound of the cricket bats: pick, pack, pock, puck: like drops of water in a fountain falling softly in the brimming bowl. On the way home uncle Charles would often pay a visit to the chapel and, as the font was above Stephen's reach, the old man would dip his hand and then sprinkle the water briskly about Stephen's clothes and on the floor of the porch. A feeble creature like a monkey was there, drawn thither by the sound of voices at the fire. --You're a terrible man, Stevie, said Davin, taking the short pipe from his mouth, always alone.
You need to be a member of Higgs Tours - Ocho Rios Jamaica to add comments!
Join Higgs Tours - Ocho Rios Jamaica