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           Therewasasacristankindlingbranchesofcandlesonthehighaltar;adeacon,hejudgedunerringly.Headbowed,hegenuflectedandmadetheSignoftheCrossashepassedinfrontofthetabernacle,thenquietlyslidintoapew.

           Onhisknees,heputhisheadonhisfoldedhandsandlethismindfloatfreely.Hedidn’tconsciouslypray,butratherbecameanintrinsicpartoftheatmosphere,whichhefeltasdenseyetethereal,unspeakablyholy,brooding.Itwasasifhehadturnedintoaflameinoneofthelittleredglasssanctuarylamps,alwaysjustflutteringonthebrinkofextinction,sustainedbyasmallpuddleofsomevitalessence,radiatingaminutebutenduringglowoutintothefardarknesses.Stillness,formlessness,forgetfulnessofhishumanidentity;thesewerewhatDanegotfrombeinginachurch.Nowhereelsedidhefeelsoright,somuchatpeacewithhimself,soremovedfrompain.Hislasheslowered,hiseyesclosed.

           Fromtheorgangallerycametheshufflingoffeet,apreparatorywheeze,abreathyexpulsionofairfrompipes.TheSaintMary’sCathedralBoys’Schoolchoirwascominginearlytosandwichalittlepracticebetweennowandthecomingritual.ItwasonlyaFridaymiddayBenediction,butoneofDane’sfriendsandteachersfromRiverviewwascelebratingit,andhehadwantedtocome.