The figure of his old master, so strangely rearisen, brought back to Stephen's mind his life at Clongowes: the wide playgrounds, swarming with boys; the square ditch; the little cemetery off the main avenue of limes where he had dreamed of being buried; the firelight on the wall of the infirmary where he lay sick; the sorrowful face of Brother Michael. She kept me in talk a long while at the door, and I thought it strange because her breast and her shoulders were bare. I was ready to know the very worst that was to be known. To receive that call, Stephen, said the priest, is the greatest honour that the Almighty God can bestow upon a man.
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