“It would not, surely. Why would it?”
“What I had in my mind,” said Kinsella, “was the rest of them.”
He looked sadly at the sky and then out across the sea, which was perfectly calm.
“But there’ll be no drowning,” he added with a sigh, “while the weather holds the way it is.”
“There’s a feel in the air,” said Peter Walsh hopefully, “like as if there might be thunder.”
A small boat, rowed by a boy, stole past them up the harbour. Neither of the two men spoke until she reached the slip at the end of the quay.
“I’d be sorry,” said Kinsella, “if anything would happen to them two that does be going about in Flanagan’s old boat. There’s no harm in them barring the want of sense.”
“It would be as well for them to be kept off Inishbawn for all that.”
“They never offered to set foot on the island,” said Kinsella, “since the day I told them that herself and the childer had the fever. The way it is with them, they wouldn’t care where they’d be, one place being the same to them as another, if they’d be let alone.”
“That’s what they will not be, then.”