SHAUN ALOYSIUS O&#39;MARA came round the shadow of the low wall that bounded the end of the little church. He stepped unsteadily over the wall; began to walk through the small graveyard towards the yew-tree grove.<br />It was hot. The sun beat down pitilessly; there was no air. O&#39;Mara stumbled over a low headstone, cursed horribly; saw over his shoulder the short figure of the cur&eacute;; the dingy worn and shiny soutane; the thin white face.<br />He began to laugh. He laughed at the priest. He began to sing a ribald song in the Breton tongue. The cur&eacute; shrugged his shoulders; disappeared into the cool darkness of the porch. O&#39;Mara heard his footsteps die away. He thought that the sound of worn shoes on the stone flags was a strange sound.