Ashamed of these feelings, she slipped out of the house, wrapped in a handkerchief biscuit, crossed the road and went to the wastelands. This time she walked toward the Eastern marsh to Kilmaru. As the front was all day, she was not afraid of getting lost. Along the way, Mary kept thinking about Francis Davey, this strange priest of Olternana. How little he told about himself; she's in one night laid out his entire life. How wonderful, he must have looked standing beside the easel in this pond in Dozmeri. She re-introduced him bareheaded in a halo of white hair writes its landscape and top curl flown with sea gulls and a stone fall down, touching the surface of the water wings. It must have looked the prophet Elijah in the desert. Mary wondered what had prompted him to choose the path of the priest, whether he was on the soul of the congregation.