“Why are you doing this? What is that thing?”
“I am setting out my prayer mat. I wish to pray.”
He nodded. “Praying? I have heard of that. So you do it on that old rag?”
Scarlett paused. “I use this fragile, sacred cloth, yes. And, by the way, once I’m sitting on it, there are rules. You don’t bother me, prod me, talk to me, or flick soil at my ears. You leave me alone and wait for me to finish.”
Albert Browne considered the matter. “So it’s like a toilet, then? Old Michael at Stonemoor used to express himself in similar terms.”