She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor. She saw his eyes glaze over. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. " "On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets. ” He leaned towards her. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. “Beats me.
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