Michael Malone - Weebly

could play for you sometime, though I'm not really very
good."
The truth was that Saar agreed with this modest
appraisal. He knew music. The curate played with no
self-esteem, and so without conviction. But he couldn't
say that, so he said, "Jonathan, you should modify your
mea culpas, really. All afternoon I've listened to you
lacerate yourself as an unworthy priest, an unworthy
counselor to the many, many people who insist on your
help, an unworthy son, an unworthy friend. Really, your
unworthiness is becoming a megalomania."
"I'm sorry. I guess I've been monopolizing the
conversation."
"There! Again. Now, how about Thursday here in
the chapel?
You play for me. Lights out at ten, and I'll let old
Oglethorpe beat the boys back into their beds alone—
though it is my favorite duty of the day, of course." The
headmaster smiled. His headache throbbed, and he was
deeply suspicious of his motives in not mentioning to
Father Fields that Mrs. Troyes was parked outside,
apparently awaiting him.