seemed eager to get as much of it as possible, more than one old woman crying out with a humorous voice:
'Tabhair dham braon eile, a Mhourteen' ('Give me another drop, Martin').
When the grave was half filled in, I wandered round towards the north watching two seals that were chasing each other near the surf. I reached the Sandy Head as the light began to fail, and found some of the men I knew best fishing there with a sort of drag-net. It is a tedious process, and I sat for a long time on the sand watching the net being put out, and then drawn in again by eight men working together with a slow rhythmical movement.
As they talked to me and gave me a little poteen and a little bread when they thought I was hungry, I could not help feeling that I was. talking with men who were under a judgment of death. I knew that every one of them would be drowned in the sea in a few years and battered naked on the rocks, or would die in his own cottage and be buried with another fearful scene in the graveyard I had come from.
When I got up this morning I found that the people had gone to Mass and latched the kitchen door from the outside, so that I could not open it to give myself light.
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