There were eight paupers in the convalescent yard of the workhouse hospital. The yard was an oblong patch of cement with the dining-room on one side and a high red-brick wall on the other. At one end was the urinal and at the other a little tarred wooden shed where there was a bathroom and a wash-house. It was very cold, for the sun had not yet risen over the buildings that crowded out the yard almost from the sky. It was a raw bleak February morning, about eight o’clock.


White Tooth Clover Field Angry Voice Bare Chest Coarse Lump 
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Copyright information

© Liam O’Flaherty 1999

Authors and Affiliations

  • A. A. Kelly

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