“(These latter items surprised me a little: not all parish priests are able to write and a few cannot even read, learning long passages of Holy Scripture by rote.) In one corner, a ladder rose to the second storey and a single window at the front of the house, at present unshuttered, let in a shaft of pale spring sunlight. An open fire in the centre of the room was straddled by a meat-stand from which hung a pot of the saintly Ellen’s stew. The priest invited me to sit down by pulling one of the... stools from beneath the table and waving a somewhat grimy hand towards it. As though suddenly conscious of the condition of his nails, he said apologetically, ‘I’ve been digging in the vegetable plot this morning. My housekeeper likes a few onions with the rabbit. And now, sir, in what way can I help you?’ I explained as briefly as I could the fears of the Godsloves, my involvement in their story (omitting, of course, the real reason for my coming to London) and my hope that he might be able to shed some light on the subject.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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