Портрет художника в юності

           Glynncoughedandsaidgently,holdingbackwithdifficultythenervoustitterinhisvoiceandmovinghisumbrellaateveryword:

           —And,asyouremark,ifitisthus,Iaskemphaticallywhencecomesthisthusness.

           —Becausethechurchiscruellikealloldsinners,Templesaid.

           —Areyouquiteorthodoxonthatpoint,Temple?Dixonsaidsuavely.

           —SaintAugustinesaysthataboutunbaptizedchildrengoingtohell,Templeanswered,becausehewasacrueloldsinnertoo.

           —Ibowtoyou,Dixonsaid,butIhadtheimpressionthatlimboexistedforsuchcases.

           —Don’targuewithhim,Dixon,Cranlysaidbrutally.Don’ttalktohimorlookathim.Leadhimhomewithasuganthewayyou’dleadableatinggoat.

           —Limbo!Templecried.That’safineinventiontoo.Likehell.

           —Butwiththeunpleasantnessleftout,Dixonsaid.Heturnedsmilingtotheothersandsaid:

           —IthinkIamvoicingtheopinionsofallpresentinsayingsomuch.

           -Youare,Glynnsaidinafirmtone.OnthatpointIrelandisunited.

           Hestrucktheferruleofhisumbrellaonthestonefloorofthecolonnade.

           —Hell,Templesaid.IcanrespectthatinventionofthegreyspouseofSatan.HellisRoman,likethewallsoftheRomans,strongandugly.