“I’m sorry. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. ‘Shocked you, have I? We weren’t mealy-mouthed in my day, my boy. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Lucy inhaled deeply. I was one of the few. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance.
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