It must be near morning, for faint grey light came in the window. It was the grey of the Dublin streets and the low sky, and the slaty rooftops. Everything had seemed grey since she had arrived last evening. She had felt homesick for where? Her sense of adventure, which Ronald Gault had been so sure this trip would arouse, seemed to have left her altogether. At this lowest peak of the day she didn't know how she was going to face Miss Matilda O'Riordan later in the morning, and show interest in the position offered. All at once, everything was quiet.
It had been a momentary nightmare. Ireland was not always a land of tears, as it had seemed last evening, tears of rain, of farewells on docksides and airports, of old shawled women waving tremulously to departing children and grandchildren, or orphaned babies It was also a land of kindness and zany jokes and gaiety. It was where she was to begin her life again. And in full daylight she caught the zany gaiety, for when she pulled her curtains aside she found her window faced on to a low roof, on which sat five lean and hungry cats.
There were her crying babies, five of them, no less.
Their green eyes looked up at her expectantly, and she thought that she probably resembled them herself, with her too thin triangular face, her smooth, fair hair, and her green eyes eagerly asking, not for the food the cats wanted to fill their stomachs, but for something to fill her heart. She rang for breakfast, and when it came, tossed scraps of bacon to her tabby and ginger friends. She would need it, for Ronald had warned her that old Miss O'Riordan was something of a dragon who would certainly lash secretaries and other employees with a fiery breath.
But it will do you good. After all, there's a castle, too.
Whistle for the Crows on Apple Books
Ronald, a publisher of repute, for whom she read and did revising and rewriting jobs, had sensibly decided that six months was long enough to grieve for a husband and child. Cathleen knew he was right. Jonathon and her baby, sweet eighteen-months-old Debby, killed in that tragic accident, had gone out of her life, and she now had to rebuild it. Friends who sympathized too much, and familiar surroundings, only served to keep her grief alive. She needed the bracing tonic of a new country and a challenging and interesting job.
Even a dragonish old woman and a castle! In her eagerness, Cathleen arrived too early.
Thomas Toots the Crows
She went into the bar to smoke a cigarette and have an innocuous glass of tomato juice. She had a cautious feeling that Miss O'Riordan, although breathing flames herself, was quite likely to notice even a hint of sherry on someone else's breath. There was a scattering of people in the bar. Cathleen sat at a table in a corner. At the next table a man with wild dark hair and a gypsy brown face seemed to be struggling to write a letter. He was drinking whisky, and called for another one as Cathleen sat down.
Whistle for the Crows
When the waiter brought it he drank it in a single swallow, stared for a few moments broodingly into space, then, with sudden impatience, tore up the paper he was writing on, put the scraps in his pocket, and went out. He was a little unsteady on his feet. He must be having an unhappy love affair, Cathleen thought. He was trying unsuccessfully to put his passionate plea to his girl into writing. She noticed that one strip of the torn letter had fallen to the floor. Full of curiosity as to how the Irish expressed themselves under those circumstances, she picked it up and read the sprawling writing.
Moira should have come to her senses before it was too late. The next sentence was obscured, but after that was the shocking cryptic statement It was far from being a love letter. It also was not ill-spelt, and the man, for all his wild appearance, expressed himself like someone who had had education. Cathleen dropped the paper distastefully. She had always heard of the love of the Irish for drama and wild exaggerations. Here was such an example. Nevertheless, she felt as if she had touched something poisonous. That man ought to be more careful.
If he was going to make threats, he shouldn't get drunk, and leave evidence lying about. But it was no business of hers, and it was time to have herself announced to Miss Matilda O'Riordan. She smiled wryly, thinking that what with cats sounding like abandoned babies on doorsteps, and drunk Irishmen dropping half-written threats, she was getting into the swing of life over here. Now she could take Miss O'Riordan in her stride.
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Miss O'Riordan was still in bed. She sat propped up with pillows, and wrapped in a sable cape. Her white hair was meant to be knotted on the top of her head, but various strands had escaped and were hanging with an air of wild abandon round her face. Her eyes were slitted and terribly observant, her nose remarkably long and thin. Her skin was exquisite. So were her fine narrow hands, folded with exactitude outside the sheets. She made an unforgettable picture. Like some old conspiring queen, Cathleen thought, the kind who would slip poison into a glove, or watch an execution with the air of a connoisseur.
Did I also add a certain pleasing appearance is necessary? After all, I have to look at you when we're working, don't I? I have very fine sensibilities. That's better. Now I can see you. Published by Ace Books, New York Soft cover. Ace K Mass market paperback; very good condition. More information about this seller Contact this seller 9. Published by Hodder and Stoughton Ltd About this Item: Hodder and Stoughton Ltd, Condition: Used; Acceptable.
We are committed to providing each customer with the highest standard of customer service. All books are picked, packed and dispatched from the United Kingdom. Seller Inventory PH More information about this seller Contact this seller Condition: G. First Edition. Very Good. Vintage PB original. Faint trace of dampness on the rear cover only. This edition Damage to spine. Pages tanned. Photograph available on request. Acceptable paperback; overall the book is complete and readable however defects are present. Defects may include missing plates, shelf wear and marks to cover, marking to pages, foxing and tanning.
Seller Inventory NLA. Published by Ace Star Book About this Item: Ace Star Book, Seller Inventory IM Original Black Cloth. No Jacket. Light foxing througout. Cover spine torn at head and foot. Boots Library sticker on the front board. From: Anybook Ltd. Lincoln, United Kingdom. Condition: Poor. This book has hardback covers.
In poor condition, suitable as a reading copy. No dust jacket. Re-bound by library. Please note the Image in this listing is a stock photo and may not match the covers of the actual item,grams, ISBN: Seller Inventory Published by London: Hodder and Stoughton Printing About this Item: Ace Books. Has wear. Five star seller - Buy with confidence!. Tight binding. Clean unmarked text and covers. Ace Star K with 50 cent cover price. Is there any real point in keeping the Blackfeather Court whistle the horn you get as a reward for the main Crow's Wood quest?
Or is it best just dumped at the nearest merchant to save inventory space?
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April It doesn't seem to work for me. It just makes a "click" sound when I use it. Does it only work on certain corpses e.