The priest finally sat down in the back of the church, watching the woman but not approaching, and quietly continuing his prayers, as if they could somehow take away whatever grief she was bearing. Gabriel had not been here for a week and already he had seen new life and death, intense joy and intense suffering. He had seen the look of gratitude and joy on new parents' face as he baptised their child. He had heard a man confess cruelty. He had seen the agony on a dying child's face as he anointed her. He had married a young couple. He had presided over the funeral of the dead girl. And even when no liturgy or sacraments were celebrated, people came to the church with their joys and woes. Like this woman. He did not want to disturb her, but he did not want to leave her either, in case she needed him. It was always hard to decide whether to approach people, or whether it would interrupt their prayers. He took a rosary from the pocket of his black cassock and started praying quietly, his fingers moving over bead after bead, as if he could join her in her prayer, if not in her suffering.