James Joyce

Dubliners James Joyce

There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night after night I had passed thehouse (it was vacation time) and studied the lighted square of window: and night after night I hadfound it lighted in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I thought, I would see thereflection of candles on the darkened blind for I knew that two candles must be set at the head of acorpse. He had often said to me: "I am not long for this world," and I had thought his words idle. Now I knew they were true. Every night as I gazed up at the window I said softly to myself the wordparalysis. It had always sounded strangely in my ears, like the word gnomon in the Euclid and theword simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to me like the name of some maleficent andsinful being. It filled me with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadlywork. Old Cotter was sitting at the fire, smoking, when I came downstairs to supper. While my aunt wasladling out my stirabout he said, as if returning to some former remark of his: "No, I wouldn't say he was exactly ... but there was something queer ... there was somethinguncanny about him. I'll tell you my opinion....