Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. Gods! what it must be to pour out strong, splendid verse—mighty lines! mighty lines! If I do, Ann Veronica, it will be you. 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. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess.
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