He used to stand Debating his eyes on the Irish titles of the books in the window, and repeating the words he read aloud to himself until the passers-by turned to look at him.

Once he entered a low-browed, dingy shop merely because the owner's name was posted over the door in Gaelic characters.

It was one of those shops to be found in the back streets of most large towns which devote themselves to a composite business, displaying newspapers, apples, tobacco, and sweets for sale.

The afternoon light, already growing feeble in the open air, had almost deserted the interior of the shop.

At first Hyacinth saw nothing but an untidy red-haired girl reading in a corner by the Ught of a candle.