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THE LETTERS OF "NORAH" ON HER TOUR THROUGH IRELAND

BEING A SERIES OF LETTERS TO THE MONTREAL "WITNESS" AS SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT TO IRELAND By:
THE LETTERS OF "NORAH" ON HER TOUR THROUGH IRELAND

On January 27th I bade good-bye to my friends and set my face resolutely

towards the land whither I had desired to return. Knowing that sickness

and unrest were before me, I formed an almost cast-iron resolution, as

Samantha would say, to have one good night's rest on that Pulman car

before setting out on the raging seas. Alas! a person would persist in

floating about, coming occasionally to fumble in my belongings in the

upper berth. Prepared to get nervous. Before it came to that, I sat up

and enquired if the individual had lost anything, when he disappeared.

Lay down and passed another resolution. Some who were sitting up began

to smoke, and the fumes of tobacco floated in behind the curtains, clung

there and filled all the space and murdered sleep. Watched the heavy

dark shelf above, stared at the cool white snow outside, wished that all

smokers were exiled to Virginia or Cuba, or that they were compelled to

breathe up their own smoke, until the morning broke cold and foggy.


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