A girl's voice from the seat ahead roused him. Two blonde girls in tamoshanters were bending over a newspaper.
"That boy never killed himself, I'm certain," said the other girl.
"Do you think he was murdered?"
"Yes, deary, I do, by the husband of the woman he had wronged ..."
"But, Muriel, he didn't wrong anybody ... He killed himself for grief because a Back Bay beauty spurned his love."
"Lot o' piffle, that stuff ... I wouldn't kill myself for any man."
"O, but Muriel, you might. Think, if he was a duke or something in disguise and dreadfully handsome, with curly hair and a strong, silent face."
"Like fun I would. Have a peppermint."
"O, but Muriel, don't you think it would be just wonderful to have something like that happen ... a suicide or something? Of course it'ld be just terrible, but ..."
A smell of chewed peppermints filtered gradually back to Fanshaw. The streetcar had speeded up noisily, so that he could no longer hear what they were saying.