His white silk badge fluttered and fluttered as he worked at the next sum and heard Father Arnall's voice. Then in an instant it happens. It will not be sufficient that the rash counsels of human passion are rejected. His arbour, as he called the reeking outhouse which he shared with the cat and the garden tools, served him also as a sounding-box: and every morning he hummed contentedly one of his favourite songs: O, TWINE ME A BOWER or BLUE EYES AND GOLDEN HAIR or THE GROVES OF BLARNEY while the grey and blue coils of smoke rose slowly from his pipe and vanished in the pure air.
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