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When I got back to Baileys, I was wet from head to toe. Tore my clothes off and climbed into the shower. Finally got some heat into my bones, put on a faded sweatshirt and got the book from my jacket. It was another book of plays by Synge
The Playboy of the Western World and Other Plays.
I took a deep breath, opened the cover, and there it was, in large black writing:
THE DRAMATIST
I flipped through the pages, and one piece was highlighted in red marker. I decided to try and memorise that, instinct telling me it was a component in the puzzle.
It's you three will not see age or death coming; you that were my company when the fires on the hilltops were put out and the stars were our friends only. I’ll turn my thoughts back from this night — that’s pitiful for want of pity — to the t
