"I'm not. I'm thinking about the other thing…. The thing I did. And the dog, Mary; the dog."
She knew what was coming.
"You can't imagine what that place was like. Their sheep-run was miles from the farm. Miles from anything. You had to take it in turns to sleep there a month at a time, in a beastly hut. You couldn't sleep because of that dog. Jem would give him me. He yapped. You had to put him in the shed to keep him from straying. He yapped all night. The yapping was the only sound there was. It tore pieces out of your brain…. I didn't think I could hate a dog…. But I did hate him. I simply couldn't stand the yapping. And one night I got up and hung him. I hung him."
"You didn't, Roddy. You know you didn't. The first time you told me that story you said you found him hanging. Don't you remember? He was a bad dog. He bit the sheep. Jem's uncle hung him."
"No. It was me. Do you know what he did? He licked my hands when I was tying the rope round his neck. He played with my hands. He was a yellow dog with a white breast and white paws…. And that isn't the worst. That isn't It."
"It?"
"The other thing. What I did…. I haven't told you that. You couldn't stand me if you knew. It was why I had to go. Somebody must have known. Jem must have known."
"I don't believe you did anything. Anything at all."
"I tell you I did."
"No, Roddy. You only think you did. You only think you hung the dog."