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Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - THERE was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night after night I had passed the house (it was vacation time) and studied the lighted square of window: and night after night I had found it lighted in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I thought, I would see the reflection of candles on the darkened blind for I knew that two candles must be set at the head of a corpse. 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 word paralysis. It had always sounded strangely in my ears, like the word gnomon in the Euclid and the word simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to me like the name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled me with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work. Old Cotter was sitting at the fire, smoking, when I came downstairs to supper. While my aunt was ladling out my stirabout he said, as if returning to some former remark of his:
About the author
1882-1941. Born in Dublin, Ireland, into a family of ten children, Joyce showed singular intelligence and a gift for writing from an early age. After leaving University College Dublin with a degree in modern languages, Joyce emigrated to Europe, living in Italy, Zurich and Paris. A string of short stories, including Dubliners, were followed by his first novel, Portrait of an Artist in 1916, and then the controversial but very successful Ulysses in 1922, a work in which he perfected his stream-of-consciousness style and made his name as a great literary figure. Joyce died in Zurich in 1941, two years after the publication of Finnegans Wake, his long-awaited follow up novel which earned him further honours.
