“Things have been happening to me, Nettie. Not a day goes by that something peculiar and queer doesn"t happen,” Booth complained.
He sat in her parlor chair, sipping the brandy he"d brought.
“We know why that is, Wilkes. The spirit of Cassius is manifesting himself in these ways, to make you aware he"s here.”
Booth held the glass up to the fire and watched the dancing flames swirl through the amber liquid. “I never enjoy simple things anymore, like watching a roaring fire in the hearth. All winter I didn"t study a single snowflake or catch one on my tongue. Who has time for that now?”
They sat quietly for a few moments, staring into the flames.
“And if the National Hotel wasn"t haunted before, it is now,” he said finally.
“The National"s been haunted since Henry Clay died there in fi
