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Barney opened the door to his work shed and took a single step outside. Just as his field of vision left the window, he again glimpsed something from the corner of his eye. Not making out what it was that had caught his attention, Barney moved back toward his workbench. He put down the sharpener and went to peer out into the evening's fading light. Barney caught a flicker of movement through the small window of his work shed. He couldn't remember which one, and that made him feel sad. Last he'd heard, she'd married one of the Cammack lads over in Enniscorthy. He hadn't thought of Meggie McCorly since he'd immigrated to America, back in '38. He set the sharpener down, wondering what had come over him. Chuckling to himself, Barney thought, There's some life yet in this old boyo.īarney stayed lost in memories of half-forgotten passions for long minutes, then discovered he was still running the sharpener over a blade on Andersen's mower and had brought the edge to a silvery gleam. The sultry memories caused Barney to dab again at his forehead as a stirring visited his groin. Barney thought of the night he and Meggie had fled from the dance, from the crowded, stuffy hall, slipping away unnoticed as the town celebrated Paddy O'Shea and Mary McMannah's wedding. He savored the spring scents, the hot muggy night smells, so much like those that blew through the orchards and across the fields of County Wexford. Barney took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. For a moment he was struck by a rush of memories so vivid he felt an echo of lust rising in his old loins. She had been a vision of beauty in simple cotton, the taut fabric stretched across ripe, swaying hips and ample breasts as she walked home from school each day. Meggie McCorly, he thought absently, a smile coming to his lined face. Barney absently pulled the sticky shirt away from his chest. A hot, damp gust of wind rattled the half-open window. No, he decided at last, better tell Andersen to make plans for a funeral. But if he didn't pull it off, he'd lose both the time and the money spent on parts.
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An oversized cylinder ring might do the trick-and he could weld the small crack he'd get back most of the compression. Barney absently took a sharpener to the blades while he pondered. It would be to the benefit of all parties concerned if Barney could coax one last summer's labor from the nearly terminal machine. Barney also knew getting a dime out of Andersen for making such a judgment would be close to a miracle. Barney knew Olaf would raise Cain about having to buy a new one, but that was Olaf's lookout. The best thing Andersen could do would be to invest in one of those new Toro grass cutters, with all the fancy bells and whistles, and put this old machine out to rust.
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The head was cracked- which was why Olaf couldn't get it started-and the cylinder walls were almost paper-thin from wear and a previous rebore. He had the cylinder head off and was judging the propriety of pronouncing last rites on the machine-he expected the good fathers over at St. PROLOGUE MAY Barney Doyle sat at his cluttered workbench, attempting to fix Olaf Andersen's ancient power mower for the fourth time in seven years.