Richard Cory (A poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson) Whenever Richard Cory went downtown, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good morning," and he glittered when he walked. And he was rich - yes richer than a king And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head. Did Richard Cory commit suicide? Or did one of the "people on the pavement" have his finger on the trigger? Requiem for Richard Cory takes place in Robinson's fictional Maine hamlet "Tilbury Town" in 1918. When Cory's housekeeper finds his body in the music room of his mansion, Oakdale Hall, the coroner convenes an inquest. Despite the sheriff's opinion that it was suicide, convincing medical testimony leads to a verdict of homicide. A suspect is indicted and must be tried quickly before the Spanish influenza pandemic reaches southern Maine. But, a stranger recently arrived in Tilbury Town, Flammonde (a character from another Robinson poem), convinces local attorney Quincy Adams that the defendant is innocent. Intrigued by the case and persuaded by Flammonde's substantial retainer, Adams agrees to represent the defendant. However, the defendant has already confessed to Cory's murder and insists on pleading guilty. Squaring off against a formidable one-eyed prosecutor, Adams not only must convince his client to withdraw the guilty plea, but also must find out why his client is so determined to take the fall. His only clue is a valuable brooch of which his client denies any knowledge.