Garry, you know how it is.
Unless I brace myself with a lot of temper, he can twist me around his finger.

Even his letters are dangerous.

I can't--I won't go back to sunsets.
"I often think these days of Kenny's wood-fire tales of the shrine of Black Gartan where St.Columba was born.

Colomcille, old Kenny called him around the wood-fire, didn't he?
Colomcille, Kenny said, having been in exile, knew the homesick pangs himself and therefore could give the good Irishmen who journeyed to his shrine strength to bear them.
I'm not in exile but there are times when I should be journeyin' off, as Kenny says when the brogue is on him, to Black Gartan.

The curse of the Celt! Kenny swears there's no homesickness in the world like an Irishman's passionate longing for home and kin.