Unformatted text preview: that this legend of St. Ashlar would eat at my soul, while in fact goading me on. Let me now pause to make a most significant point. I was not to leave Italy, or this life of a Franciscan, for over twenty years. The exact count? I do not know. I never did. It was not thirty-three years, for that I would remember as the age of Christ. 509 I tell you this so that you will understand two things. That I do not rush to Donnelaith in this tale, for it is not time yet, and that during that time my body remained vigorous and quite limber, quite strong, and quite the same. My skin thickened somewhat, losing its baby soft- ness, and my face gathered expressive lines, but not very many. Other- wise . . . well almost ... I remained the same. I want you to understand how happy I was in this Franciscan life, how natural it was to me, because that is to some extent the heart of the case I wish to make. Christmas was a great feast in Italy, as it had been back in the Highlands of nightmare which I had so br...
View Full Document
This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10