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 decentish men went before this beanfeast began, she would go into retreat for the rest of her life

She fell into a sort of dim trance after she had looked at her watch. Often she went into these dim trances ever since she had been a girl at school with Father Consett for her spiritual adviser She seemed to be aware of the father moving about the room, lifting up a book and putting it down Her ghostly friend Goodness, he was unpresentable enough, with his broad, open face that always looked dirtyish, his great dark eyes, and his great mouth But a saint and a martyr She felt him there What had they murdered him for? Hanged at the word of a half-mad, half-drunk subaltern, because he had heard the confession of some of the rebels the night before they were taken He was over in the far corner of the room She heard him say: they had not understood, the men that had hanged him. That is what you would say, father Have mercy on them, for they know not what they do

Then have mercy on me, for half the time I don't know what I'm doing It was like a spell you put on me. At Lobscheid. Where my mother was, when I came back from that place without my clothes You said, didn't you, to mother, but she told me afterwards: The real hell for that poor boy, meaning Christopher, will come when he falls in love with some young girl—as, mark me, he will For she, meaning me, will tear the world down to get at him And when mother said she was certain I would never do anything vulgar you obstinately did not agree You knew me

She tried to rouse herself and said: He knew me.