He saw himself sitting at his table in Bray the morning after the discussion at the Christmas dinner table, trying to write a poem about Parnell on the back of one of his father's second moiety notices. --You're a hypocrite, O'Keeffe, he said. For a new breeze is blowing, and a world refreshed by freedom seems reborn; for in man's heart, if not in fact, the day of the dictator is over. After supper in the study hall he would change the number pasted up inside his desk from seventy-seven to seventy-six.
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