made in an alcove by means of shelves
of white wood. The bed was clothed with white bedclothes and a black
and scarlet rug covered the foot. A little hand-mirror hung above the
washstand and during the day a white-shaded lamp stood as the sole
ornament of the mantelpiece. The books on the white wooden shelves were
arranged from below upwards according to bulk. A complete Wordsworth
stood at one end of the lowest shelf and a copy of the Maynooth
Catechism, sewn into the cloth cover of a notebook, stood at one end of
the top shelf. Writing materials were always on the desk. In the desk
lay a manuscript translation of Hauptmann's Michael Kramer, the stage
directions of which were written in purple ink, and a little sheaf of
papers held together by a brass pin. In these sheets a sentence was
inscribed from time to time and, in an ironical moment, the headline of
an advertisement for Bile Beans had been pasted on to the first sheet.
On lifting the lid of the desk a faint fragrance escaped--the fragrance
of new cedarwood pencils or of a bottle of gum or of an overripe apple
which might have been left there and forgotten.

Mr. Duffy abhorred anything which betokened physical or mental disorder.
A mediaeval doctor would have called him saturnine. His face, which
carried the entire tale of his years, was of the brown tint of Dublin
streets. On his long and rather large head grew dry black hair and a
tawny moustache did not quite cover an unamiable mouth. His cheekbones
also gave his face a harsh character; but there was no harshness in the
eyes which, looking at the world from under their tawny eyebrows, gave
the impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in
others but often disappointed. He lived at a little distance from his
body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glasses. He had an odd
autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time
to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third
person and a predicate in the past tense. He never gave alms to beggars
and walked firmly, carrying a stout hazel.

He had been for many years cashier of a private bank in Baggot Street.
Every morning he came in from Chapelizod by tram. At midday he went
to Dan Burke's and took his lunch--a bottle of lager beer and a small
trayful of arrowroot biscuits. At four o'clock he was set free. He dined
in an eating-house in George's Street where he felt himself safe from
the society o