She was hurrying along Sandford Road in the direction of Eglinton Road, which led to Donnybrook and the church where John had been baptized and where they had all always gone to Mass. Sandford Road was always very busy, a main road out from town. On her side, on the side of the road where she was walking, the noisy trams went by her on their way out from town. The trams were nearly empty; the depot was not far away. The corner of the street where she lived was one of the last stops out from town. On the other side of Sandford Road, the trams passed on their way into town and they, too, were nearly empty. It was dark, except for the light from the street lamps and the occasional dim glare of light from the trams as they passed. It was the time of evening when nearly everybody was at home. A few men passed her, getting home from offices, and a few young girls. Boys and girls whirled by her on bicycles, not in crowds, as they would have been half an hour or an hour earlier, but in ones and twos. It had rained during the afternoon and the air was damp and cold, with a vigorous wind that she was grateful for because it seemed to wash her stiff face. The wind felt clean.

She crossed Sandford Road and stood on the corner where Eglinton Road runs in to Sandford Road. Eglinton Road was very wide, with big stone houses set back from the road and high up with stone steps in front of them. It was a residential road, quite well-to-do. There was no one on Eglinton Road, as far as she could see, and the way looked far and dark that she had to walk. She thought she had better sit down for a minute and collect her thoughts before she saw the priest. She wanted to tell him enough to convince him, but she did not want to tell him too much. She wanted to speak to him clearly and sensibly, so that he would respect her and give her the money. She wanted him to give her the money, but she wanted him to continue to regard her as an upright, dependable woman who had been driven to do what she had done. A few paces from the corner there was a wooden bench set alongside one of the heavy, big-branched trees that marked the length of Eglinton Road. This tree, the one nearest the bench, was so old and secure that some of its root lay coiled and twisted about it above the ground, making a rocky pediment on which John had often climbed when he was small, finding his way around the tree with his small hands against the trunk while she watched him from this bench. Although it could hardly have been the same bench. That was a long time ago.