Zachary was more a young man than a boy, but Macginty sang to him a song that long ago and a continent away, Mrs. Macginty had used to comfort her weeping children. If someone should walk in and see them now, let them be damned for thinking somethin’ other’n holy thoughts. Besides, the blood would give ‘em a scare now, wouldn’t it? After several minutes, Zach came slowly back to his senses. As always, his head was cloudy at first. As always, he felt guilty and ashamed. And as usual, Macginty would talk him back to sanity. He’d help’ta right him on his path, he would. Macginty wasn’t above getting to his knees when he needed to. Wiping the boy’s blood from the marble floor made him thankful. Even more, he was amused at the irony. When he’d been a young priest, he’d wanted to, had prayed for and been obsessed with, witnessing a miracle. Now, for almost a full decade, he’d been cleaning up after dozens of Zachary’s little miracles. “Let me help you with that.” Zach started to rise and then lost his balance.
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