His actual reception of the eucharist did not bring him the same dissolving moments of virginal self-surrender as did those spiritual communions made by him sometimes at the close of some visit to the Blessed Sacrament. But the notes were long and shrill and whirring, unlike the cry of vermin, falling a third or a fourth and trilled as the flying beaks clove the air. Then he was before me again with the air of a person for whom, outside, someone who had frankly to be reckoned with was waiting. Fleming and Stephen rose and, walking to their seats, sat down.
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