Rafferty found himself wondering whether his Ma had ever sought recourse to the priest's advice and his whiskey. Between her errant, late husband and her six kids, she must often have had cause to seek such solace. Maybe, she'd even succumbed to Father Kelly's embrace, as countless other sympathy-seeking women were reputed to have done.
But this was a thought beyond which even he wasn't prepared to venture, and he quickly thrust it back from whence it had come.
The priest poured with a generous hand, not troubling to enquire whether Rafferty actually wanted a glass. A refusal of such alcoholic succour from a fellow with good, Irish blood in his veins was clearly beyond expectation or understanding.
It being beyond Rafferty's understanding also, he never thought of offering anything but
