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Excerpt from A Chronicle of Jails
The mountains stood in the sunshine, calm and splendid, with a delicate mist clothing their dark sides, softly. The sea stretched out to the western horizon, its winter rage laid by, the sun 'glinting in the waves of the offshore wind like the spears of a countless host, and the islands of the bay, from Clare to Inish Bofin, lay in its waters like wonderful jewels that shone in the sun. Into this world of delicate beauty came this news, this tale Of yet another attempt to win for. A land so beautiful the freedom that other lands knew. It was not strange that the mind found some difficulty in adjusting itself to perceive a tale that canie like a stream of blood across the day.
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