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1921. A romantic novel from the Irish novelist. The book begins: The message came to me, at the second check of the hunt, that a countryman and a clansman needed me. The ground was heavy, the day raw, and it was a drag, too fast for fun and too tame for sport. So I blessed the countryman and the clansman, and turned my back on the field. But when they told me his name, I all but fell from the saddle. But that man's dead! But he wasn't dead. He was in New York. He was traveling from the crags of Ulster to his grandson, who had an orange-grove on the Indian River, in Florida. He wasn't dead. And I said to myself with impatience, Must every man born ninety years ago be dead? See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.