―I bow to you, Dixon said, but I had the impression that limbo existed for such cases.
―Don’t argue with him, Dixon, Cranly said brutally. Don’t talk to him or look at him. Lead him home with a sugan the way you’d lead a bleating goat.
―Limbo! Temple cried. That’s a fine invention too. Like hell.
―But with the unpleasantness left out, Dixon said.
He turned smiling to the others and said:
―I think I am voicing the opinions of all present in saying so much.
―You are, Glynn said in a firm tone. On that point Ireland is united.
He struck the ferrule of his umbrella on the stone floor of the colonnade.
―Hell, Temple said. I can respect that invention of the grey spouse of Satan. Hell is Roman, like the walls of the Romans, strong and ugly. But what is limbo?
―Put him back into the perambulator, Cranly, O’Keeffe called out.
Cranly made a swift step towards Temple, halted, stamping his foot, crying as if to a fowl:
―Hoosh!
Temple moved away nimbly.
―Do you know what limbo is? he cried. Do you know what we call a notion like that in Roscommon?
―Hoosh! Blast you! Cranly cried, clapping his hands.