Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. "He has robbed him. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. . “Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all over kids.
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