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Mybrain wouldn’t run straight in its track, lurching & shooting red electric sparks up the right side of myface. We’d a doing from the Tans in June, the night of the attack on Eileen but this was worse. Because staring hurts worst of all. This fellowwas morningsober not like the Tans who couldn’t see straight with the drink. One fellowheld himself up with his rifle, using it like a walking stick to stop himself from falling down. Trying to do the big man before Flora. The fellow in charge leant up against the wall for balance, left a green smear after him. I was scrubbing for days. You never knewwhat waythey’d turn. A Tan might be sticking his head under the hood of a baby’s pram saying he couldn’t get over the blue eyes of the Irish, next he’d be trying to click with a girl, then you could turn a corner & a gang of them would be stamping on an old man’s hand. People ran like chickens in front. Savage drivers but expert. The tenders swept carts, people & animals into the ditches – pirate patches over their eyes, metal hooks instead of hands slashing the air, gathering leaves off the trees as theydrove past. Dark faces & stained fingers. The people said theyhad come from hell & you could still smell the singe off them. I couldn’t smell the singe onlyengine oil because theywere pure out of their minds about motors, couldn’t stop driving even for themselves. Theygot tangled up with the Hounds of Duhallowout beyond


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