The Iveagh Gardens lay almost empty under the dreamy blue skies. The summer's late warmth had drawn the crowds a little further north to St. Stephen's Green; the incessant cries of its gulls were quite audible in the clear air.
He stood beside the shadowed mausoleum ("how appropriate," he thought), still trembling. Curiously, there didn't seem to be a way in - nowhere did the high stone walls yield. He pulled the jacket’s sleeves down further when he noticed, even in the shade, the blood spots on his cuffs.
This time it took only a short while for tranquility to descend.