‘That was one of my own clever stories. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. 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. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. She looked at him curiously. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. You shall lie upon your back; your head shall be covered; and your feet shall be bare.
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