‘Father,’ the voice said, puzzled and worried, ‘it is our church.’ ‘A church?’ The priest ran his hands incredulously over the wall like a blind man trying to recognize a particular house, but he was too tired to feel anything at all. He heard the man with the gun babbling out of sight, ‘Such an honour, father. The bell must be rung …’ and he sat down suddenly on the rain-drenched grass, and leaning his head against the white wall, he fell asleep, with home behind his shoulder-blades. His dream was full of a jangle of cheerful noise.
Heaven
