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North Richmond Street,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], being blind,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], was a quiet street except at the hour when the Christian Brothers' School set the boys free. An uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], detached from its neighbours in a square ground. The other houses of the street,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], conscious of decent lives within them,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.
The former tenant of our house, a priest, had died in the back drawing-room. Air,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], musty from having been long enclosed,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], hung in all the rooms,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and the waste room behind the kitchen was littered with old useless papers. Among these I found a few paper-covered books,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the pages of which were curled and damp: The Abbot, by Walter Scott, The Devout Communicant, and The Memoirs of Vidocq. I liked the last best because its leaves were yellow. The wild garden behind the house contained a central apple-tree and a few straggling bushes,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], under one of which I found the late tenant's rusty bicycle-pump. He had been a very charitable priest; in his will he had left all his money to institutions and the furniture of his house to his sister.
When the short days of winter came,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], dusk fell before we had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre. The space of sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses, where we ran the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness. When we returned to the street, light from the kitchen windows had filled the areas. If my uncle was seen turning the corner,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], we hid in the shadow until we had seen him safely housed.