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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.... He began to puff at his pipe, no doubt arranging his opinion in his mind. Tiresome old fool!When we knew him first he used to be rather interesting, talking of faints and worms; but I soongrew tired of him and his endless stories about the distillery. I have my own theory about it, he said. I think it was one of those ... peculiar cases.... But it'shard to say.... He began to puff again at his pipe without giving us his theory. My uncle saw me staring and saidto me: Well, so your old friend is gone, you'll be sorry to hear. Who? said I. Father Flynn. Is he dead? Mr Cotter here has just told us. He was passing by the house. I knew that I was under observation so I continued eating as if the news had not interested me.My uncle explained to old Cotter. The youngster and he were great friends. The old chap taught him a great deal, mind you; andthey say he had a great wish for him. God have mercy on his soul, said my aunt piously.Old Cotter looked at me for a while. I felt that his little beady black eyes were examining me but Iwould not satisfy him by looking up from my plate. He returned to his pipe and finally spat rudelyinto the grate. I wouldn't like children of mine, he said, to have too much to say to a man like that. How do you mean, Mr Cotter? asked my aun

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