sep 14, 2011
“. . . The only true thing in life? His mother’s
prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no more: the
trembling skeleton of a twig burnt in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. She
had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been.. . .”
Eyeing the student Sargent, Stephen considers saints, sons, and mothers.