She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. I’ve had enough of it.
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