She slipped into bed and struggled to stay awake until she heard Cathy and Larry 14 stirring. “I’ll turn you here. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. "Oh! never mind him: he'll take no harm! Come with me into the parlour. 156 He followed, “Um, is it okay if we talk in private for a few minutes somewhere?” Cathy was quick to reply. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish.
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