What do they want?
Alms! Alms! Alms! They want my soul for alms to take it below and burn it in the hellfire--the thin, blue flames!" He stopped in the midst of his ravings and drew himself erect, a smile of infinite cruelty on his lips.
"Let them all come with their damned, empty palms! They're ghosts, and they cannot stop me so long as I follow the small voice that's inside of me.

They can't stop me, and I'll win back to Beatrice.

There I'm safe--safe! Her hands are thin and light and cool and as fragrant as flowers.

She'll lay them on my eyelids and I'll go to sleep! And the ghosts will close their empty hands.

Ha! McTee, d'you know aught of the power of a woman's love ?" He stepped close to the burly Scotchman.
"Keep off," growled McTee.