“That was how he put it to himself. “I feel grand, boy, grand!” Like a schoolmaster, Diarmit had watched over him and ruled him and told him how to be. But in the end, Conal had been too much for him, refusing to wash or clean the place or go to bed at a regular hour, and he had the law on his side too. It was his room, he was the tenant, not Diarmit. If he said to get the hell out of here, Diarmit had to get the hell out. “And take your rubbish with you!” Diarmit had not done that, so one eveni...ng when it was too late for anyone to come and start demolishing the building, Conal had taken all the clothes that were not dark red and four plates and some cutlery and a teapot and a mug and stuffed them in one of the litter bins on the far side of the green. That would be a disappointment for the Dalmatian and the collie when they came scavenging in the morning, he thought, laughing. He laughed all the way back to the room. And now Diarmit was really gone. Conal need not be conscientious or steady or a good citizen any more.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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