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207 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
I left the chair which he had placed close to the hearth for me, and stood by the window. The sky was grey and heavy. I watched the softly falling snow, gathering already on the roofs and the cobbles of the mill-yard. The green-faced clock gave the time as twenty past eleven. Mechanically, I remembered your saying that it was always fast, and in the same mechanical way I wondered if the snow would affect it. Would the big hand, travelling upwards after the half-hour, come to an untimely halt because of what had accumulated on it?


… an army colonel who was a poor relations of the Woodcombes of Woodcombe Park found himself stationed with his regiment in Fermoy: his daughter, too married a Quinton and became mistress of Kilneagh. His second daughter married an English curate …. This couple’s only child was bought up in Woodcoombe Rectory and later caused history to repeat itself, as in Anglo Irish relationships it has a way of doing; she fell in love with a Quinton cousin, and became in time the third English girl to come and live at Kilneagh.
I had never heard of the Battle of the Yellow Ford until Father Kilgarriff told me. And now he wishes he hadn’t. The furious Elizabeth cleverly transformed the defeat of Sir Harry Bagenal into Victory, ensuring that her Irish battlefield might continue for as long as it was profitable … Just another Irish story it had seemed to you …… But the battlefield continuing is part of the pattern I see everywhere around me, as your exile is also. How could we have rebuilt Kilneagh and watched our children playing amomg the shadows of destruction? The battlefield has never quietened.
The sense of the past, so well preserved in the great house and the town in Dorset, is only found in the echoes at Kineagh, in the voices of the cousins.
There’s not much left in a life when a murder has been committed. That moment when I guessed the truth in Mr Langan’s office; that moment when [Imelda] opened the secret drawer; that moment when [Willie] stood at his mother’s bedroom door and saw her dead. After each moment there was as little chance for any one of us as there was for Kinleagh after the soldier’s wrath. Truncated lives, creatures of the shadows. Fools of fortune, as his father would have said: ghosts we became
“Murmuring to one another, the elderly couple rise and make their way outside ….One hand grasps another, awkward in elderliness ….. They do not speak of other matters …..They are grateful for what they have been allowed, and for the mercy of their daughter’s quiet world in which there is no ugliness"