1903. The Irish novelist and playwright's novel begins: It was a stormy night in November; out of doors, the wind swung through the street in a rocking gale, but in the parlor behind the curio shop, life seemed at its ebb. Old Solny pored over a musty book, and Anna stood with her head thrown back, her hands clasped behind her, her eyes seeing dreams; above them, on the dun-coloured wall, the Dutch clock ticked methodically, but otherwise the room was bereft of sound.