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Updated: June 12, 2025
It was strange that he should carry so heavy a heart to Boveyhayne, when he should have gone there gladly ... but it was not of Mary or his marriage that he was then thinking. It was of the farewell he was making to this old city which had known much grief and many troubles. When he returned to Ireland he would go straight to Ballymartin, by Belfast, from England. He would not see Dublin again.
I used to wonder," she went on, "why it was that I didn't really like the villagers in other places, but I never found out why until I came to Boveyhayne, and it was simply because I felt instinctively that they were spongers ... those other people ... that they hadn't any real work to do, and that they were living on us like ... like ticks on a sheep. The Boveyhayne men are splendid men.
We're going to walk to Boveyhayne. You'll need a stretch after sitting all that time, and Ninian's getting disgustingly obese, so we make him run up and down the road over the cliff three times so's to thin him down!..." "Funny ass!" said Ninian. "Mrs. Graham wanted Mary to come with us, but we wouldn't let her. We're tired of females, Ninian and I, and Mary's very femaley at present.
There were great stalks of charlock, standing out of the grass on the face of the cliffs, giving them a golden head. "If Marley's on Whitcombe beach, we'll row over to Boveyhayne," said Ninian. "You'd like to get on to the sea, wouldn't you, Quinny?" Henry nodded his head. "No," said Gilbert, "we won't. We'll sit here for a while, and I'll read my play to Quinny.
"I love Boveyhayne," she said, "because the people are so fine. They rely on themselves far more than any other people I know. That's because they're fishermen, I suppose, and have no employers. They work for themselves ... and it's frightfully hard work too.
I can't stand a man who does that sort of thing. She's an awful bitch, too ... his wife! We had them here once!... My God!" Ninian lay back in his seat and remained silent for a while as if he were contemplating in his mind the picture of Uncle Peter and his wife on that awful visit to Boveyhayne. They waited for him to continue. "I used to feel ashamed to go into the village," he said at last.
"It's unfair," he told himself, "to compare the grief of an illiterate Irishwoman with the grief of an English lady!" But then he had seen the grief of poor Englishwomen. Four of the Boveyhayne men had been drowned in a naval battle.
"Righto, Ninian!" said Gilbert. "Mary was saying what a long time it was since you were there, Quinny," Ninian went on. "Did she?" Henry answered. "Yes. I hope you'll go down sometime." "I will," he said. Mrs. Graham invited Gilbert and Henry to spend Christmas at Boveyhayne, and they gladly accepted her invitation, but a week before they were due to go to Devonshire, Mr.
When he remembered that he had told her of his love for her and had asked her to marry him, and had been told in reply that she wanted a man, not a coward, he felt that he could not bear to return to Ireland again. His mood was mingled misery and gladness. At Boveyhayne, thank heaven, he would be free of Sheila and probably he would never think of her again.
No wonder the vicar was sick. Your affectionate friend, Henry Quinn. Three days later, Henry left Ballymartin and travelled to Belfast in the company of John Marsh. In Belfast they were to separate: Marsh was to return to Dublin and Henry was to cross by the night boat to Liverpool, and proceed from there to London, and then on from Waterloo to Boveyhayne.
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