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           Gillanbonecamewiththedyingsun,astrangesmallcollectionoframshacklewoodenandcorrugatedironbuildingsalongeithersideofonedustywidestreet,treelessandtired.Themeltingsunhadlickedagoldenpasteovereverything,andgavethetownatransientgildeddignitywhichfadedevenastheystoodontheplatformwatching.ItbecameoncemoreatypicalsettlementontheveryedgeoftheBackofBeyond,alastoutpostinasteadilydiminishingrainfallbelt;notfarawaywestwardbegantwothousandmilesoftheNever-Never,thedesertlandswhereitcouldnotrain.

           Aresplendentblackcarwasstandinginthestationyard,andstridingunconcernedlytowardthemthroughtheinches-deepdustcameapriest.Hislongsoutanemadehimseemafigureoutofthepast,asifhedidnotmoveonfeetlikeordinarymen,butdrifteddreamlike;thedustroseandbillowedaroundhim,redinthelastofthesunset.

           "Hello,I’mFatherdeBricassart,"hesaid,holdingouthishandtoPaddy."YouhavetobeMary’sbrother;you’rethelivingimageofher."HeturnedtoFeeandliftedherlimphandtohislips,smilingingenuineastonishment;noonecouldspotagentlewomanquickerthanFatherRalph."Why,you’rebeautiful!"hesaid,asifitwerethemostnaturalremarkintheworldforapriesttomake,andthenhiseyeswentonwardtotheboys,standingtogetherinahuddle.TheyrestedforamomentwithpuzzledbewildermentonFrank,whohadchargeofthebaby,andtickedoffeachboyastheygotsmallerandsmaller.