Paul, and, for
many years, in Chicago. The need of a warmer climate for his health's
sake, he said, had driven him South, and some three years before an
appointment at Milner's Collegiate School had brought him to the city
which he and the young man now alike called their own.
Queed, still sacking the shelves for another find, asked if he had never
revisited Ireland.
"Ah, no," said Nicolovius, "there was no gracious pardon for my little
peccadillo, no statute of limitations to run after me and pat me on the
head. I love England best with the sea between us. You may fancy that a
refugee Irishman has no fondness for reading history."
He flicked the fire-ash from his cigar and looked at Queed. All the time
he talked he had been watching the young man, studying him, conning him
over....
"My life ended when I was scarcely older than you. I have been dead
while I was alive.... God pity you, young man, if you ever taste the
bitter misery of that!"
Queed turned around surprised at the sudden fierceness of the other's
tone. Nicolovius instantly sprang up and went over to poke the fire; he
came back directly, smiling easily and pulling at his long cigar.
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