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Lynch gazed after him, his lip curling in slow scorn till his face resembled a devil's mask: --To think that that yellow pancake-eating excrement can get a good job, he said at length, and I have to smoke cheap cigarettes! They turned their faces towards Merrion Square and went for a little in silence. You can't play the saint on me any more, that's one sure five. Someone had put coal on and he heard voices. But the worst of all was Fleming's theme because the pages were stuck together by a blot: and Father Arnall held it up by a corner and said it was an insult to any master to send him up such a theme.