Читать книгу Ireland in Travail онлайн

31 страница из 68

Mrs. Slaney snorted.

“Friends! Ireland can never be friendly. Ireland can’t forget. Look how she has been treated. Look what Cromwell did. Look at last Thursday. They arrest the Lord Mayor of Cork—a perfectly innocent man. I suppose they’ll treat him the same as Lord Mayor MacCurtain.”

“I thought the papers said the Lord Mayor was presiding over an illegal court, and that a stolen police cypher was found, and—oh, lots of other things,” I ventured.

“Nonsense! That’s Hamar Greenwood and his lie factory. I was talking to Father Murphy, who tells me the Lord Mayor is a perfectly innocent man. And, look, only the other night those soldiers ran amok on the quays. They’re here to terrorise the citizens. But you want to see the rooms?”

“I would like to.”

We went downstairs. Mrs. Slaney trotted busily a pace or two ahead.

“This is the flat.” She opened a door leading into a sitting-room.

“Nice and airy,” she declared, bustling towards a window, and vainly trying to put it up. “I must get that sash fixed. There’s a bedroom at the back, and the use of a bathroom.”