Judy turned it over and read:
Lines to One Who Has Drunk
from The Fountain of Youth
Death cannot touch the halo of your hair
Though, like a ghost, you disappear at will.
I knew you’d come in answer to my prayer ...
You, gentle sprite, whom love alone can kill ...
She shivered. “Spooky, isn’t it? And,” she added, “like all of her poems, utterly impossible.”
“Hmmm, you think so—now. But you’ll see. You’ll see.” And the old lady kept on nodding her head as if the gods had given her an uncanny second-sight.
As far as Judy was concerned, the conversation closed right there. She had learned nothing of importance. In fact, she had learned nothing at all except that her employer believed in spirits. Someone, twenty years ago, had probably looked like Irene. But that wouldn’t help find Irene now.