I sat down on the chair and leaned my head in my hands. I felt like crying for the first time in years, for the first time since I was a kid of four or five. I had often prayed after Mass at home that God would not let me lose the Faith. I thought of Sister Monica, the old nun that prepared me for my first Confession and Communion and Confirmation, and Father Campbell, the old priest in Gardiner Street that I went to Confession to, and Christmas numbers of the holy books we used to have at home. Never, never no more.
It was all Ballocks. — Borstal Boy by Brendan Behan
It was all Ballocks. — Borstal Boy by Brendan Behan
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