" I lingered there with him an instant ever so kindly. The rosaries, too, which he said constantly--for he carried his beads loose in his trousers' pockets that he might tell them as he walked the streets--transformed themselves into coronals of flowers of such vague unearthly texture that they seemed to him as hueless and odourless as they were nameless. What day of the week was it? He stopped at a newsagent's to read the headline of a placard. He was telling them something about Tullabeg.