turban, and this, the scallop of saint James.

An old pilgrim’s hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells.

A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the soft pile of the tablecloth.

Three, Mr Deasy said, turning his little savingsbox about in his hand. These are handy things to have. See. This is for sovereigns. This is for shillings. Sixpences, halfcrowns. And here crowns. See.

He shot from it two crowns and two shillings.

Three twelve, he said. I think you’ll find that’s right.

Thank you, sir, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in a pocket of his trousers.