Liberty Hall was a shell, empty of everything but memories.
Around the post-office, all other buildings had been leveled, but the great building stood there like a monument to Easter Week.
The windows stared vacantly from the house on Leinster Road. Everything had been taken from it. The looters must have had a merry time. Hundreds of houses had been thus sacked, for the British soldiers had lived up to that Tommy whose words make Kipling's famous song:
The sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade the beggars under,
Why lootin' should be entered as a crime;
So if my song you'll hear, I will learn you plain and clear
'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime;
With the loot!
Bloomin' loot!