His hands were in his side-pockets and his trousers were tucked in at the knees by elastic bands. If ever he had seen himself celebrant it was as in the pictures of the mass in his child's massbook, in a church without worshippers, save for the angel of the sacrifice, at a bare altar, and served by an acolyte scarcely more boyish than himself. Father Arnall suddenly shut the book and shouted at him: --Kneel out there in the middle of the class. America seeks no earthly empire built on blood and force.
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