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She
was
very
dead
,
must
have
died
within
minutes
of
retiring
,
a
good
fifteen
hours
earlier
.
The
windows
were
closed
fast
,
and
the
room
humid
from
the
great
flat
pans
of
water
she
insisted
be
put
in
every
inconspicuous
corner
to
keep
her
skin
youthful
.
There
was
a
peculiar
noise
in
the
air
;
after
a
stupid
moment
of
wondering
he
realized
what
he
heard
were
flies
,
hordes
of
flies
buzzing
,
insanely
clamoring
as
they
feasted
on
her
,
mated
on
her
,
laid
their
eggs
on
her
.
"
For
God
's
sake
,
Mrs.
Smith
,
open
the
windows
!
"
he
gasped
,
moving
to
the
bedside
,
face
pallid
.
She
had
passed
out
of
rigor
mortis
and
was
again
limp
,
disgustingly
so
.
The
staring
eyes
were
mottling
,
her
thin
lips
black
;
and
everywhere
on
her
were
the
flies
.
He
had
to
have
Mrs.
Smith
keep
shooing
them
away
as
he
worked
over
her
,
muttering
the
ancient
Latin
exhortations
.
What
a
farce
,
and
she
accursed
.
The
smell
of
her
!
Oh
,
God
!
Worse
than
any
dead
horse
in
the
freshness
of
a
paddock
.
He
shrank
from
touching
her
in
death
as
he
had
in
life
,
especially
those
flyblown
lips
.
She
would
be
a
mass
of
maggots
within
hours
.
At
last
it
was
done
.
He
straightened
.
"
Go
to
Mr.
Cleary
at
once
,
Mrs.
Smith
,
and
for
God
's
sake
tell
him
to
get
the
boys
working
on
a
coffin
right
away
.
No
time
to
have
one
sent
out
from
Gilly
;
she
's
rotting
away
before
our
very
eyes
.
Dear
lord
!
I
feel
sick
.
I
'm
going
to
have
a
bath
and
I
'll
leave
my
clothes
outside
my
door
.
Burn
them
.
I
'll
never
get
the
smell
of
her
out
of
them
.
"
Back
in
his
room
in
riding
breeches
and
shirt
--
for
he
had
not
packed
two
soutanes
--
he
remembered
the
letter
,
and
his
promise
.
Seven
o'clock
had
struck
;
he
could
hear
a
restrained
chaos
as
maids
and
temporary
helpers
flew
to
clear
the
party
mess
away
,
transform
the
reception
room
back
into
a
chapel
,
ready
the
house
for
tomorrow
's
funeral
.
No
help
for
it
,
he
would
have
to
go
into
Gilly
tonight
to
pick
up
another
soutane
and
vestments
for
the
Requiem
Mass.
.
Certain
things
he
was
never
without
when
he
left
the
presbytery
for
an
outlying
station
,
carefully
strapped
in
compartments
in
the
little
black
case
,
his
sacraments
for
birth
,
death
,
benediction
,
worship
,
and
the
vestments
suitable
for
Mass
at
whatever
time
of
the
year
it
was
.
But
he
was
an
Irishman
,
and
to
carry
the
black
mourning
accouterments
of
a
Requiem
was
to
tempt
fate
.
Paddy
's
voice
echoed
in
the
distance
,
but
he
could
not
face
Paddy
at
the
moment
;
he
knew
Mrs.
Smith
would
do
what
had
to
be
done
.
Sitting
at
his
window
looking
out
over
the
vista
of
Drogheda
in
the
dying
sun
,
the
ghost
gums
golden
,
the
mass
of
red
and
pink
and
white
roses
in
the
garden
all
empurpled
,
he
took
Mary
Carson
's
letter
from
his
case
and
held
it
between
his
hands
.
But
she
had
insisted
he
read
it
before
he
buried
her
,
and
somewhere
in
his
mind
a
little
voice
was
whispering
that
he
must
read
it
now
,
not
later
tonight
after
he
had
seen
Paddy
and
Meggie
,
but
now
before
he
had
seen
anyone
save
Mary
Carson
.
It
contained
four
sheets
of
paper
;
he
riffled
them
apart
and
saw
immediately
that
the
lower
two
were
her
will
.
The
top
two
were
addressed
to
him
,
in
the
form
of
a
letter
.
My
dearest
Ralph
,
