Every morning he hallowed himself anew in the presence of some holy image or mystery. There were red holly and green ivy round the old portraits on the walls. And when he had tried to open Mr Casey's hand to see if the purse of silver was hidden there he had seen that the fingers could not be straightened out: and Mr Casey had told him that he had got those three cramped fingers making a birthday present for Queen Victoria. I had made her a receptacle of lurid things, but there was an odd recognition of my superiority--my accomplishments and my function-- in her patience under my pain.
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