Bless my labour that has provided it and give me strength for this day. Amen." "Amen. Amen. Amen." Before the echo of the last amen faded, Edward MacFell was firmly seated in the big wooden armchair at the top of the table, and during the seconds of silence that followed he screwed his heavy buttocks further into the seat before, with an almost imperceivable motion of his head, giving the three people standing behind their chairs permission to sit, and the elderly woman and young girl on their knees just inside the door of the room permission to rise. Sitting in silence facing her husband, Mary MacFell wondered, and not for the first time, what would happen if she were suddenly to open her tight-lipped mouth and scream. Yet she knew what would happen; he'd drag her outside and throw her bodily into the horse trough. And if this didn't restore her to his idea of sanity, he'd despatch her to the madhouse and leave her there to rot, whilst he himself would continue here with his daily work as appointed by God.
