The Dead, Part two

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part two of story fifteen of Dubliner's This LibriVox recording
is in the public domain. The dead, the piercing morning air,
came into the hall where they were standing, so that
Aunt Kate said, close the door. Somebody, missus Mallins will
get her death of cold. Mister Brown is out there,

(00:21):
aunt Kate, said, Mary Jane. Brown is everywhere, said Aunt Kate,
lowering her voice. Mary Jane laughed at her tone. Really,
she said archly, he is very attentive. He has been
laid on here like the gas, said Aunt Kate, in
the same tone, all during the Christmas. She laughed herself,

(00:42):
this time good humoredly, and then added quickly, but tell
him to come in, Mary Jane, and close the door.
I hope to goodness he didn't hear me. At that moment,
the hall door was opened, and mister Brown came in
from the doorstep, laughing as if his heart would break.
He was dressed in a long green overcoat with astra
cancuffs and collar, and wore on his head an oval

(01:03):
fur cap. He pointed down the snow covered key from
where the sound of shrill prolonged whistling was born in Teddy.
We'll have all the cabs in Dublin out, he said.
Gabriel advanced from the little pantry behind the office, struggling
into his overcoat. Man looking round the hall, said Gretta,

(01:23):
not down yet, she's getting on her things, Gabriel said.
Aunt Kate, who's playing up there, asked Gabriel. Nobody, they're
all gone. Oh no, Aunt Kate, said Mary Jane. But Hell,
Darcy and miss o'callan aren't gone yet. Some one is
fooling at the piano anyhow, said Gabriel. Mary Jane glanced

(01:44):
at Gabriel and mister Brown and said, with a shiver,
it makes me feel cold to look at you two
gentlemen muffled up like that. I would like to face
your journey home at this hour. I'd like nothing better
this minute, said mister Brown, stoutly than a ratting fine
walk in the country, or a fast drive with a
good spanking goer between the shafts. We used to have

(02:05):
a very good horse and trap at home, said Aunt Julia, sadly.
The never to be forgotten Johnny, said Mary Jane, laughing.
Aunt Kate and Gabriel laughed too. Why what is wonderful
about Johnny? Asked mister Brown, the late lamented Patrick Morgan,
our grandfather. That is, explained Gabriel, commonly known in his

(02:26):
later years as the Old Gentleman, was a glue boiler.
Oh now, Gabriel, said Aunt Kate, laughing. He had a
starch mill. Well, glue or starch, said Gabriel. The old
Gentleman had a horse by the name of Johnny, and
Johnny used to work in the old Gentleman's mill, walking
round and round in order to drive the mill. That
was all very well, but now comes the tragic part

(02:49):
about Johnny. One fine day, the old Gentleman thought he'd
like to drive out with the quality to a military
review in the park. The Lord of Mercy on his soul,
said Aunt Kate compassionately. Amen, said Gabriel. So the old gentleman,
as I said, harness Johnny, and put on his very
best tall hat and his very best stock collar, and

(03:10):
drove out in grand style from his ancestral mansion somewhere
near Back Lane. I think everyone laughed, even missus Mallins
at Gabriel's manor, and Aunt Kate said, oh, now, Gabriel,
he didn't live in back Lane, really, only the mill
was there out from the mansion of his forefathers, continued Gabriel.
He drove with Johnny, and everything went on beautifully until

(03:32):
Johnny came in sight of King Billy's statue. And whether
he fell in love with the horse King Billy sits on,
or whether he thought he was back again in the mill, anyhow,
he began to walk round the statue. Gabriel paced in
a circle round the hall in his goloshes, amid the
laughter of the others. Round and round he went, said Gabriel.
And the old gentleman, who was a very pompous old gentleman,

(03:55):
was heidy indignant. Go on, sir, what do you mean, sir,
Johnny most extraordinary conduct. Can't let her stand the horse.
The peal of laughter which followed Gabriel's imitation of the
incident was interrupted by a resounding knock at the hall door.
Mary Jane ran to open it and let in Freddy Mallins.
Freddy Malins, with his hat well back on his head

(04:18):
and his shoulders humped with cold, was puffing and streaming
after his exertions. Oh, I could only get one cab,
he said, Oh, we'll find another along the quay, said Gabriel, Yes,
said Aunt Kate better not keep Missus Mallin standing in
the draft. Missus Mallins was helped down the front steps

(04:38):
by her son and mister Brown, and, after many maneuvers,
hoisted into the cab. Freddy Malins clambered in after her
and spent a long time settling her on the seat,
mister browne helping him with advice. At last she was
settled comfortably and Freddy Malins invited mister Brown into the cab.
There was a good deal of confused talk, and then
mister Brown got into the cab. The cabman settled his

(05:01):
rugue over his knees and bent down for the address.
The confusion grew greater, and the cabman was directed differently
by Freddy Malins and mister Brown, each of whom had
his head out through a window of the cab. The
difficulty was to know where to drop mister Brown along
the route, and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julia and Mary Jane
helped the discussion from the doorstep with cross directions and

(05:23):
contradictions and abundance of laughter. As for Freddy Malins, he
was speechless with laughter. He popped his head in and
out of the window every moment to the great danger
of his hat, and told his mother how the discussion
was progressing, till at last mister Brown shouted to the
bewildered cabman above the din of everybody's laughter. Do you

(05:44):
know Trinity College, Yes, sir, said the cabman. Well, drive
bang up against Trinity College gates, said mister Brown, And
then we tell you where to go. You understand now, yes, sir,
said the cabman. Make like a board for Trinity College. Right, sir,
said the cabman. The horse was whipped up, and the

(06:07):
cab rattled off along the quay amid a chorus of
laughter and a jews. Gabriel had not gone to the
door with the others. He was in a dark part
of the hall, gazing up the staircase. A woman was
standing near the top of the first flight in the shadow.
Also He could not see her face, but he could
see the terra cotta and salmon pink panels of her skirt,

(06:28):
which the shadow made appear black and white. It was
his wife. She was leaning on the banisters listening to something.
Gabriel was surprised at her stillness and strained his ear
to listen also, but he could hear little save the
noise of laughter and dispute on the front steps. A
few chords struck on the piano, and a few notes
of a man's voice singing. He stood still in the

(06:51):
gloom of the hall, trying to catch the air that
the voice was singing, and gazing up at his wife.
There was grace and mystery in her attitude, as if
she were a symbol of something. He asked himself, what
is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow,
listening to distant music a symbol of If he were
a painter, he would painter in that attitude. Her blue

(07:13):
felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair
against the darkness, and the dark panels of her skirt
would show off the light ones distant music. He would
call the picture if he were a painter. The hall
door closed, and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julie, and Mary Jane
came down the hall, still laughing. Well, isn't very terrible,

(07:34):
said Mary Jane. He's really terrible. Gabriel said nothing, but
pointed up the stairs towards where his wife was standing.
Now that the hall door was closed, the voice and
the piano could be heard more clearly. Gabriel held up
his hand for them to be silent. The song seemed
to be in the old Irish tonality, and the singer
seemed uncertain, both of his words and of his voice.

(07:56):
The voice made plaintive by distance, and the singer's horseess
faintly illuminated the cadence of the air with words expressing grief.
Oh the rain falls on my heavy locks, and the
dew wets my skin. My babe lies cold, Oh, exclaimed
Mary Jane. It's Bartel Darcy singing, and he wouldn't sing
all night. Oh, I'll get him to sing a song

(08:19):
before he goes. Oh do, Mary Jane, said, Aunt Kate.
Mary Jane brushed past the others and ran to the staircase,
But before she reached it, the singing stopped and the
piano was closed abruptly. Oh what a pity, she cried,
Is he coming down, Gretta Gabriel heard his wife answer yes,
and saw her come down towards them. A few steps

(08:41):
behind her were mister Bartell Darcy and miss o'callan. Oh,
mister Darcy, cried Mary Jane. It's downright mean of you
to break off like that. When we were all in
raptures listening to you. I have been at him all
the evening, said miss o'callan, and missus Conroy too, and
he told us yet a dread cold and couldn't sing. Oh,

(09:02):
mister Darcy, said Aunt Kate. Now that was a great
fip to tell. Can't you see that I'm as horse
as a crow, said mister Darcy roughly. He went into
the pantry hastily and put on his overcoat. The others,
taken aback by his rude speech, could find nothing to say.
Aunt Kate wrinkled her brows and made signs to the
others to drop the subject. Mister Darcy stood, swathing his

(09:26):
neck carefully and frowning. It's the weather, said Aunt Julia,
after a pause. Yes, everybody has colds, said Aunt Kate readily. Everybody,
they say, said Mary Jane. We haven't had snow like
it for thirty years, and I've read this morning in
the newspapers that the snow is general all over Ireland.

(09:47):
I love the look of snow, said Aunt Julius. Sadly,
so do I said Miss o'callan. I think Christmas is
never really Christmas unless we have the snow on the ground.
But poor mister Darcy doesn't die the snow, said Aunt Kate, smiling.
Mister Darcy came from the pantry, fully swathed and buttoned,
and in a repentant tone, told them the history of

(10:09):
his cold. Everyone gave him advice and said it was
a great pity, and urged him to be very careful
of his throat. In the night air, Gabriel watched his wife,
who did not join in the conversation. She was standing
right under the dusty fanlight, and the flame of gas
lit up the rich bronze of our hair, which he
had seen her trying at the fire a few days before.

(10:31):
She was in the same attitude and seemed unaware of
the talk about her. At last, she turned towards them,
and Gabriel saw that there was color on her cheeks,
and that her eyes were shining. A sudden tide of
joy went leaping out of his heart. Mister Darcy, she said,
what is the name of that song you were singing?

(10:52):
It's called the Lass of Ockram, said mister Darcy, But
I couldn't remember it properly. Why do you know it
the Lass of Ockram, she repeated, I couldn't think of
the name. It's a very nice air, said Mary Jane.
I'm sorry you were not in voice to night Now,
Mary Jane said, Aunt Kate, don't annoy mister Darcy. I

(11:14):
won't have him annoyed. Seeing that all are ready to start,
she shepherded them to the door, where good night was said. Well,
good night, Aunt Kate, and thanks for the pleasant evening.
Good night, Gabriel, good night, Gretta, good night, Aunt Kate,
and thanks ever so much. Good night, Aunt Julia. Oh,
good night, Greta. I didn't see you. Good night, mister Darcy.

(11:38):
Good night, Miss O'Callahan, good night, Miss Morgan. Good night again.
Good night all save home, good night, good night. The
morning was still dark. A dull yellow light brooded over
the houses and the river, and the sky seemed to
be descending. It was slushy on her foot, and only

(11:58):
streaks and patches of lay on the roofs, on the
parapets of the quay, and on the area railings. The
lamps were still burning redly in the murky air, and
across the river the palace of the Forecourts stood out
menacingly against the heavy sky. She was walking on before
him with mister Bartell, darcy, her shoes and a brown

(12:19):
parcel tucked under one arm, and her hands holding up
her skirt from the slush. She had no longer any
grace of attitude. But Gabriel's eyes were still bright with happiness.
The blood went bounding along his veins, and the thoughts
went rioting through his brain. Proud, joyful, tender, valorous. She

(12:40):
was walking on before him, so lightly and so erect,
that he longed to run after her, noiselessly, catch her
by the shoulders and say something foolish and affectionate into
her ear. She seemed to him so frail that he
longed to defend her against something, and then to be
alone with her. Moments of their secret life together burst
like stars upon his memory. A heliotrope envelope was lying

(13:02):
beside his breakfast cup, and he was caressing it with
his hand. Birds were twittering in the ivy, and the
sunny web of the curtain was shimmering along the floor.
He could not eat for happiness. They were standing on
the crowded platform, and he was placing a ticket inside
the warm palm of her glove. He was standing with
her in the cold, looking in through a grated window

(13:24):
at a man making bottles in a roaring furnace. It
was very cold. Her face, fragrant in the cold air,
was quite close to his. And suddenly he called out
to the man at the furnace, it's the fire hut, sir.
But the man could not hear with the noise of
the furnace. It was just as well, he might have
answered rudely. A wave of yet more tender joy escaped

(13:47):
from his heart and went coursing in warm blood along
his arteries, like the tender fire of stars. Moments of
their life together that no one knew of or would
ever know of, broke upon and A and his memory.
He longed to recall to her those moments, to make
her forget the years of their dull existence together and

(14:07):
remember only their moments of ecstasy. For the years he
felt had not quenched his soul or hers, their children,
His writing her household cares had not quenched all their
soul's tender fire. In one letter that he had written
to her, then, he had said, why is it that
words like these seemed to me so dull and cold?

(14:30):
Is it because there is no word tender enough to
be your name? Like distant music. These words that he
had written years before were born towards him from the past.
He longed to be alone with her when the others
had gone away, when he and she were in the
room in their hotel. Then they would be alone together.

(14:50):
He would call her softly, Greta. Perhaps she would not
hear at once. She would be undressing, then something in
his voice would strike her. She would turn and look
at him. At the corner of Wine Tavern Street, they
met a cab. He was glad of its rattling noise,
as had saved him from conversation. She was looking out
of the window and seemed tired. The others spoke only

(15:13):
a few words, pointing out some building or street. The
horse galloped along wearily under the murky morning sky, dragging
his old rattling box after his heels, and Gabriel was
again in a cab with her, galloping to catch the boat,
galloping to their honeymoon. As the cab drove across o'condle Bridge,

(15:34):
Miss O'Callahan said, they say you never cross o'connle Bridge
without seeing a white horse. I see a white man
this time, said Gabriel. Where asked mister Bartell Darcy Gabriel
pointed to the statue, on which lay patches of snow.
Then he nodded familiarly to it and waved his hand.

(15:55):
Good Night, Dan, he said gaily. When the cab drew
up before the hotel, Gabriel jumped out, and, in spite
of mister Bartell Darcy's protest to pay the driver, he
gave the man a shilling over his fare. The man
saluted and said, a prosperous new year to you, sir.
The same to you, said Gabriel, cordially. She leaned for

(16:17):
a moment on his arm. In getting out of the cab,
and while standing at the curbstone bidding the others good night,
she leaned lightly on his arm, as lightly as when
she had danced with him a few hours before. He
had felt proud and happy, then happy that she was his,
proud of her grace and wifely carriage. But now, after
the kindling again of so many memories, the first touch

(16:40):
of her body, musical and strange and perfumed, sent through
him a keen pang of lust. Under Cover of her silence,
he pressed her arm closely to his side, and as
they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they
had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home
and friends, and run away together with wild and radiant hearts,

(17:01):
to a new adventure. An old man was dozing in
a great hooded chair in the hall. He lit a
candle in the office and went before them to the stairs.
They followed him in silence, their feet falling in soft
thuds on the thickly carpeted stairs. She mounted the stairs
behind the porter, her head bowed in the ascent, her

(17:22):
frailed shoulders curved as with a burden, her skirt girt
tightly about her. He could have flung his arms about
her hips and held her still, for his arms were
trembling with desire to seize her, and only the stress
of his nails against the palms of his hands held
the wild impulse of his body and check. The porter
halted on the stairs to settle his guttering candle. They halted, too,

(17:46):
on the steps below him. In the silence, Gabriel could
hear the falling of the molten wax into the tray,
and the thumping of his own heart against his ribs.
The porter led them along a corridor and opened the door.
Then he set his unstable candle down on a toilet
table and asked at what hour they were to be
called in the morning, Eight, said Gabriel. The porter pointed

(18:10):
to the tap of the electric light and began a
muttered apology, but Gabriel cut him short. We don't want
any light. We have light enough from the street, and
I say, he added, pointing to the candle, you might
remove that handsome article like a good man. The porter
took up his candle again, but slowly, for he was
surprised by such a novel idea. Then he mumbled good

(18:32):
night and went out. Gabriel shot the lock too. A
ghostly light from the street lamp lay in a long
shaft from one window to the door. Gabriel threw his
overcoat and hat on a couch and crossed the room
towards the window. He looked down into the street in
order that his emotion might calm a little. Then he

(18:53):
turned and leaned against the chest of drawers with his
back to the light. She had taken off her hat
and cloak and was standing before a large swinging mirror,
unhooking her waist. Gabriel paused for a few moments, watching her,
and then said Gretta. She turned away from the mirror
slowly and walked along the shaft of light towards him.

(19:14):
Her face looked so serious and weary that the words
would not pass Gabriel's lips. No, it was not the
moment yet, you look tired, he said, I am a little.
She answered, you don't feel ill or weak, No, tired,
that's all. She went on to the window and stood

(19:35):
there looking out. Gabriel waited again, and then, fearing that
diffidence was about to conquer him, he said abruptly, by
the way, Gretta, what is it you know that poor
fellow Malance? He said quickly, yes, what about him? Well,
poor fellow, he's a decent sort of chap after all,

(19:56):
continued Gabriel in a false voice. He gave me back
that sovereign I lent him, and I didn't expect it. Really,
it's a pity he wouldn't keep away from that Brown
because he's not a bad fellow. Really, he was trembling
now with annoyance. Why did she seem so abstracted? He
did not know how he could begain Was she annoyed
too about something? If you'd only turn to him or

(20:19):
come to him of her own accord. To take her
as she was would be brutal. No, he must see
some ardor in her eyes. First. He longed to be
master of her strange mood. When did you lend him
the pound? She asked, After a pause. Gabriel strove to
restrain himself from breaking out into brutal language about the

(20:40):
Scottish malons and his pound. He longed to cry to
her from his soul, to crush her body against his,
to overmaster her. But he said, oh, at Christmas, when
he opened that little Christmas card shop in Henry Street,
he was in such a fever of rage and desire
that he did not hear her come from the window.
She stood before him for an instant, looking at him strangely,

(21:03):
then suddenly, raising herself on tiptoe and resting her hands
lightly on his shoulders, she kissed him. You are a
very generous person, Gabriel, she said. Gabriel, trembling with delight
at her sudden kiss and at the quaintness of her phrase,
put his hands on her hair and began smoothing it back, scarcely,
touching it with his fingers. The washing had made it

(21:26):
fine and brilliant. His heart was brimming over with happiness,
just when he was wishing for it. She had come
to him of her own accord. Perhaps her thoughts had
been running with his. Perhaps she had felt the impetuous
desire that was in him, and then the yielding mood
had come upon her. Now that she had fallen to
him so easily, he wondered why he had been so diffident.

(21:48):
He stood, holding her head between his hands, then slipping
one arm swiftly about her body, and drawing her towards him,
He said, softly, Gretta, dear, what are you thinking about?
He did not answer, or yield wholly to his arm.
He said again, softly, tell me what it is, Greta,
I think I know what is the matter? Do I know?

(22:11):
She did not answer at once. Then she said, in
an outburst of tears, Oh, I'm thinking about that song,
the lass of Okrum. She broke loose from him and
ran to the bed, and, throwing her arms across the
bed rail, hid her face. Gabriel stood stock still for
a moment in astonishment, and then followed her. As he

(22:32):
passed in the way of the cheval glass, he caught
sight of himself in full length. His broad well filled
shirt front, the face whose expression always puzzled him when
he saw it in a mirror, and his glimmering, gilt
rimmed eye glasses. He halted a few paces from her
and said, what about the song? Why does that make
you cry? She raised her head from her arms and

(22:55):
dried her eyes with the back of her hand like
a child. A kinder note than he had an tended
went into his voice. Why, Gretta, he asked, I am
thinking about a person long ago who used to sing
that song. And who was the person long ago? Asked Gabriel, smiling.
It was a person I used to know in Galway

(23:15):
when I was living with my grandmother, she said. The
smile passed away from Gabriel's face. A dull anger began
to gather again at the back of his mind, and
the dull fires of his lust began to glow angrily
in his veins. Some one you were in love with,
he asked, ironically. It was a young boy I used
to know, she answered, named Michael Fury. He used to

(23:39):
sing that song the Lass of Ockram. He was very delicate.
Gabriel was silent. He did not wish her to think
that he was interested in this delicate boy. I can
see him so plainly, she said after a moment, such
eyes as he had, big dark eyes, and such an
expression in them, an expression. Oh, then you were in

(24:01):
love with him, said Gabriel. I used to go out
walking with him, she said, when I was in Galway.
A thought flew across Gabriel's mind. Perhaps that was why
you wanted to go to Galway with that iver's girl,
he said coldly. She looked at him and asked, in
surprise what for her eyes made Gabriel feel awkward. He

(24:23):
shrugged his shoulders and said, now do I know to
see him? Perhaps? She looked away from him along the
shaft of light towards the window in silence. He is dead,
she said at length. He died when he was only seventeen.
Isn't it a terrible thing to die so young as that?
What was he asked Gabriel still ironically, he was in

(24:46):
the gas works, she said. Gabriel felt humiliated by the
failure of his irony and by the avocation of this
figure from the dead, a boy in the gas works.
While he had been full of memories of their secret
life together, full of tenderness and joy and desire. She
had been comparing him in her mind with another. A

(25:06):
shameful consciousness of his own person assailed him. He saw
himself as a ludicrous figure, acting as a penny boy
for his aunt's, a nervous, well meaning sentimentalist, orating to
vulgarians and idealizing his own clownish lusts, the pitiable, fatuous
fellow he had caught a glimpse of in the mirror. Instinctively,

(25:27):
he turned his back more to the light, lest she
might see the shame that burned upon his forehead. He
tried to keep up his tone of cold interrogation, but
his voice when he spoke, was humble and indifferent. I
suppose you were in love with this Michael Fury Greta,
he said, I was great with him at that time,
She said, Her voice was veiled and sad. Gabriel, feeling

(25:51):
now how vain it would be to try to lead
her whither he had proposed, caressed one of her hands
and said, also sadly, and what did he die of?
So young? Greta consumption? Was it? I think he died
for me? She answered? A vague terror seized Gabriel at
this answer, as if at that hour when he had

(26:12):
hoped to triumph, some impalpable and vindictive being was coming
against him, gathering forces against him in a vague world.
But he shook himself free of it with an effort
of reason, and continued to caress her hand. He did
not question her again, for he felt that she would
tell him of herself. Her hand was warm and moist.

(26:33):
It did not respond to his touch, but he continued
to caress it, just as he had caressed her first
letter to him that spring morning. It was in the winter,
she said, about the beginning of the winter, when I
was going to leave my grandmother's and come up here
to the convent. And he was ill at the time,
and his lodgings in Galway and wouldn't be let out,
And his people in Upderad were written to He was

(26:55):
in a decline, they said, or something like that. I
never knew. Rightly, He paused for a moment and sighed,
poor fellow. She said, he was very fond of me,
and he was such a gentle boy. We used to
go out together walking, you know, Gabriel like the way
to do in the country. He was going to study
singing only for his health. He had a very good voice,

(27:16):
poor Michael fury well, and then asked Gabriel. And then
when it came to the time for me to leave
Galway and come up to the convent, he was much
worse and I wouldn't be let's see him. So I
wrote him a letter saying I was going up to
Dublin and we'll be back in the summer, and hoping
he would be better. Then she paused for a moment

(27:38):
to get her voice under control, and then went on.
Then the night before I left, I was in my
grandmother's house in Nun's Island, packing up, and I heard
gravel thrown up against the window. The window was so
wet I couldn't see. So I ran downstairs as I
was and sipped out the back into the garden, and
there was the poor fellow at the end of the garden, shivering.

(27:59):
And did you not tell him to go back, asked Gabriel.
I implored of him to go home at once, and
told him he would get his death in the rain,
but he said he did not want to live. I
can see his eyes as well as well. He was
standing at the end of the wall where there was
a tree, And did he go home? Asked Gabriel, Yes,

(28:21):
he went home, and when I was only a week
in the convent, he died and was buried in Ut Deerrard,
where his people came from. Oh the day I heard
that that he was dead, she stopped choking with sobs, and,
overcome by a motion, flung herself face downward on the bed,
sobbing on the quilt. Gabriel held her hand for a

(28:42):
moment longer, irresolutely, and then, shy of intruding on her grief,
let it fall gently, and walked quietly to the window.
She was fast asleep. Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked
for a few moments, unresentfully on her tangled hair and
half open mouth, listening to her deep drawn breath. So

(29:03):
she had had that romance in her life. A man
had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now
to think how poor a part he her husband, had
played in her life. He watched her while she slept,
as though he and she had never lived together as
man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her
face and on her hair, and as he thought of

(29:26):
what she must have been then in that time of
her first girlish beauty. A strange friendly pity for her
entered his soul. He did not like to say, even
to himself, that her face was no longer beautiful, but
he knew that it was no longer the face for
which Michael Fury had braved death. Perhaps she had not
told him all the story. His eyes moved to the

(29:49):
chair over which she had thrown some of her clothes.
A petticoat string dangled to the floor, one boot stood upright,
its limp upper fallen down, the fellow that lay upon
its side. He wondered at his riot of emotions of
an hour before, from what had it proceeded from his
aunt's supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine

(30:12):
and dancing, the merry making when saying good night in
the hall, the pleasure of the walk along the river
in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia, she too would soon
be a shade, with the shade of Patrick Morglan and
his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her
face for a moment when she was singing, arrayed for
the bridle. Soon, perhaps he would be sitting in that

(30:34):
same drawing room, dressed in black, his silk hat on
his knees, the blinds would be drawn down, and Aunt
Kate would be sitting beside him, crying and blowing her
nose and telling him how Julia had died. He would
cast about in his mind for some words that might
console her, and would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, Yes,

(30:55):
that would happen very soon. The air of the room
chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the
sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one,
they were all becoming shades. Better passed boldly into that
other world in the full glory of some passion, than

(31:16):
fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how
she who lay beside him, had locked in her heart
for so many years that image of her lover's eyes
when he had told her that he did not wish
to live. Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never
felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew
that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered

(31:39):
more thickly in his eyes, and in the partial darkness,
he imagined he saw the form of a young man
standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near his
soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts
of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not
apprehend their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was

(32:01):
fading out into a gray, impalpable world. The solid world itself,
which these dead had one time reared and lived in,
was dissolving and dwindling. A few light taps upon the
pane made him turn to the window. It had begun
to snow again. He watched sleepily, the flakes, silver and
dark falling obliquely against the lamp light. The time had

(32:26):
come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes,
the newspapers were right. Snow was general all over Ireland.
It was falling on every part of the dark central plain,
on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the bog of Allen,
and farther westward, falling softly into the dark, mutinous Shannon waves.

(32:48):
It was falling too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard,
on the hill where Michael Fury lay buried. It lay thickly,
drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears
of the little Gait, on the barren thorns. His soul
swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through
the universe, and faintly falling like the descent of their

(33:11):
last end upon all the living and the dead end
of part two of Story fifteen, The Dead Recording by
Tiger Hinds. That is the end of Double Nurse by
James Joyce.