<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" ?>
<!-- generator="Drupal Views Datasource.Module" -->
<feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xml:lang="en">
  <title>Item Dublin Core</title>
  <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://www.niliteraryarchive.com" />
  <link rel ="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/node/%25/atom" />
  <id>tag:https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/node/%25/atom</id> 
  <updated>2026-04-04T02:05:31+01:00</updated>
  <author>
    <name>admin</name>
    <email>niwa@bt48.com</email>
  </author>
  <entry>
    <id>969</id>
    <title>Lingard124</title>
    <updated>Tuesday, September 6, 2016 - 10:51</updated>
    <link href="https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/node/%25/atom"/>
    <collections>Chapter 13</collections>
    <contributor>Lingard Estate</contributor>
    <coverage>1972</coverage>
    <creator>Linen Hall Library</creator>
    <date>Thursday, March 10, 2016</date>
    <format>TIFF</format>
    <identifier>Lingard124</identifier>
    <itemdescription>Manuscript</itemdescription>
    <keywords>Hendersons, Crucifix</keywords>
    <language>English</language>
    <path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/lingard124</path>
    <publisher>Linen Hall Library</publisher>
    <relation>Linen Hall Library</relation>
    <rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</rights>
    <scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Lingard124_1.jpg</scannedimage>
    <source>LHL Archive</source>
    <transcript>﻿116

&quot;Not much peace, have you, Moira?&quot; said Mr Blake.

&quot;No,&quot; she laug said, with a laugh.

They walked back home with her and the children. Deirdre put her
hand into Sadie&#039;s and clung to it tightly. She looked up from time to time into Sadie&#039;s face. &quot;You seem to have made a new friend&quot;, said Mr Blake. When they reached the
Hendersons&#039; gate  a few doors along from Mr Blake&#039;s, she Moira asked if
them would like to come in for a cup of teacoffee.

&quot;That would be nice, wouldn;t it, Sadie?&quot; said Mr Blake.

Sadie nodded.

Moira&#039;sHer sitting room was identical in size and shape to Mr Blake&#039;s,
but very differently furnished. It was modern and colourful, and
instead of photographs, paintings covered the walls.

&quot;What lovely paintings!&quot; cried Sadie. They looked vivid and
exciting to her: they were alive.

&quot;Moira did them,&quot; said Mr Blake. &quot;She&#039;s a painter.&quot;

&quot;Was, you mean!&quot; said Moira. &quot;I don&#039;t get time any more.&quot;

&quot;You will again, one of these days.&quot;

&quot;In five years time!” By then I&#039;ll probably have forgotten how
to hold a brush.&quot;

Sadie and Mr Blake stayed for an hour. &quot;That was good crack,&quot;
said Sadie on the way homeback to his house. &quot;I like a good chat. And I liked Moira.&quot;

&quot;I thought you would.&quot;

&quot;I saw she&#039;d a crucifix in the hall. Is she a Catholic then?
She didn&#039;t look all that like one.&quot;

Mr Blake laughedwas amused. &quot;Yes, she&#039;s a Catholic.&quot;

&quot;I thought the place would have been smothered with holy pictures
</transcript>
    <type>Text</type>
    <updateddate>Tuesday, September 6, 2016 - 10:51</updateddate>
  </entry>
</feed>
