“So I give him something and I go back. I wanted to help her out a little. She asks where he is, and I say I don’t know. And I give her almost everything I have, tell her it’s from her family. As I turn to go, she takes hold of my arm. I remember the breath off her was horrible, and she says, Finn, take me away from here. I say all right. Two kids, she has, but I say all right. She’s what I’d come for, waited all these years for. So she gets herself ready in five minutes flat and she takes my arm—got a little bag with her. And I say, What about the kids? And she says, They’re his damn kids as well, he can look after them, see how he likes it. And we go to the Pennsylvania Station. I get two tickets out to Monessen, where I had a cousin. And I’m sitting on the bench next to this woman, who’s holding tight to my arm, prettiest girl in Annagassan, the girl everyone wanted. Here she was. And her two kids lying in that place alone. And from somewhere a baby starts crying, and she begins to curse like a sailor, and she covers her chest; her milk has soaked her dress. I give her some of my smalls, which she shoves in there to soak it up, and I tell her I have to use the little room, and we kiss, and I remember how she was trying to cover up her soaking breasts. They’d let down, I remember her saying that: Jesus, Finn, they’ve gone and let down. And I run out the back of the station without my coat or suitcase, without a penny.”

“This why you never get married, Finn, eh?” Sal peered up at the Irishman.

Finn settled his head into his large hands, which made him look even more like a regretful gargoyle. “Never married,” he said simply.

Bennet flung down a card and took one. “Never seen you with a woman, Finn. You ever done more than kiss a woman?”

Finn was still lost in thought. “The breath off her was so foul.”

“That’s Catholics for you,” Bennet said. “Either they’re breeding like rabbits or they’re virgins. The Virgin Finn.”

“Eh”—Sal raised a contradictory finger—“I’m Catholic.”

“I sink the black,” Bennet said. “Here’s another one sin cojones.”

Magnus protested. “Finn is a Galahad. I salute a fellow seeker of the grail. ’Tis the maiden that leads us.”

Otto snorted. “Had a good look at your wife lately? I’ve thrown up better faces.”

“How dare you?” Magnus tried to draw himself up indignantly, but a surprise belch weakened him and he slumped back against the wall.

“Get off it,” Otto said. “You’re telling me Finn should have kept it in his pants for that Irish whore?”