The next few days were agonizing. My conscience took a real hit. It was ailing. I was a poor, tortured soul whose conscience was at stake.
After the initial high of setting Old Danny’s house on fire, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I mooned around the church, not leaving the room, not bathing and definitely not eating. Father Janes would come and sit on the bed and try to talk me out of the funk I had gotten myself into, but it was an exercise in futility.
Worse of it was the dreams were back. Old Danny pestered with an intensity that was at first, frightful, but I later got used to seeing his woeful looking face begging me to pray for him.
How was I to pray for him when I couldn’t even do so for myself?
The only highlight of my day was when Maggi came to visit. I clung to her
