Brian remembered Kenny's legend of the thorn ("worst of them all it was," said Kenny gently, "and prickin' deepest!") and the robin who plucked it from the bleeding brow of Christ.

So by the blood of the Son of Man had the robin come by his red breast.
The legend filled Brian with yearning.

He softened dangerously to the memory of a sketching tramp with Kenny fuming at his heels, his excitement chronic.

Adventure had endlessly stalked Kenny for its own, waylaid him at intervals when he passionately proclaimed his desire for peace, and saddled Brian with the responsibilities of constant guardianship.
Brian stubbornly put it all behind him.

Kenny, frantic with tenderness and resolution, could sweep him credulously back into bondage if he kept to the siege.