“Every one of them. It’s the devil’s own job. I gave a hand for a bit. I found it stupefying. Of all the letters I opened, only one remained in my mind five minutes after. It was an in-going letter, a love letter from a girl, a school teacher. This delightful writer had ideals and liked nice things, and he, it seemed, was rather uncouth. She was telling him what he must be dressed in, and how he must look when he came first to see her after release. There were pages of the letter full of tender urgings and gentle reasonings. A fellow feels rather guilty having to put his nose into a thing like that.” I nodded my head. “One thing the letters did, they proved how thoroughly the rank and file were under the whip of the leaders. On the days of the out-going mail some leading spirit seemed to order what opinion was to be expressed on this or that event, for in most of the letters there was a single well-turned sentence blooming like a rose in the desert of illiteracy. The brain reeled finding the same thing, said more or less correctly, over and over again. Oh, and another thing these letters did was to make one realise how real a thing religion was to a good many of these people.” I was looking at the burning building. “I don’t believe that dome is going to go this afternoon.” “Neither do I, and I can’t wait for it anyhow.” “Were you at the camp long?” “Only a day or two. I was on other business. I’m off.” “When are we going to see you again?” “We’ll run across each other soon. I don’t suppose I shall be leaving Dublin again.” I knew once 47 intended to go nothing stopped him. I gave a flourish of my hand, and he flourished his and left me. He had not gone very long when the Auxiliaries paid us another of their intermittent visits, panic swept over us again, and we retreated to our holes to the sound of hundreds of steps pattering on the quay. These terrible men came along again, leaning over the armoured sides of the car, flashing their eyes, grinding their teeth, waving their guns and crying, “Move along there,” and then, their fury eased, they turned the car about and sped back to Butt Bridge. The crowd had thinned a good deal since I came, and there was plenty of room to move about. This time who should I run across but Mrs. Slaney? She was standing very stiffly contemplating the burning building. “It seems rather a pity,” I said. For once she appeared a little abashed. A great flurry of wind came along, and the inferno within the stone walls glowed, and flames pushed through the stone crevices here and there, leapt out of the windows, climbed through the roof, and turning into smoke, went whirling into the sky. Great pieces of charred material went floating like black birds into the air. All eyes were fixed on the clock, which continued to tick.