and I hear him drop down dead.' He panted and wiped his forehead.

'So that is your night?' she said.

'That is my night. It comes every few weeks--so many days after I get
what I call sentence. Then I begin to count.'

'Get sentence? D'you mean _this_?' She half closed her eyes, drew a
deep breath, and shuddered. '"Notice" I call it. Sir John thought it was
all lies.'

She had unpinned her hat and thrown it on the seat opposite, showing the
immense mass of her black hair, rolled low in the nape of the columnar
neck and looped over the left ear. But Conroy had no eyes except for her
grave eyes.

'Listen now!' said she. 'I walk down a road, a white sandy road near the
sea. There are broken fences on either side, and Men come and look at me
over them.'

'Just men? Do they speak?'

'They try to. Their faces are all mildewy--eaten away,' and she hid her
face for an instant with her left hand. 'It's the Faces--the Faces!'

'Yes. Like my two hoots. I know.'

'Ah! But the place itself--the bareness--and the glitter and the salt
smells, and the wind blowing the sand! The Men run after me and I
run.... I know what's coming too. One of them touches me.'