Digital Manuscript ProjectMalone meurt / Malone Dies

[⃞][0866] When I stop, as just now, the noises begin again, strangely
loud, those whose turn it is.
[0867] So that I seem to have again the
hearing of my boyhood.
[0868] Then in my bed, in the dark, on stormy
nights, I could tell from one another, in the outcry without,
the leaves, the boughs, the groaning trunks, even the grasses
and the house that sheltered me.
[0869] Each tree had its own cry, just
as no two s[⁁]w[w]hispered alike, when the air was still.
[0870] I heard afar
the iron gates clashing and dragging at their posts and the wind
rushing between their bars.
[0871] There was nothing, not even the
[start] sand on the paths, that did not [⁁]
have utter its cry.
[0872] The still nights
too, still as the grave as the saying is, were nights of storm
for me, clamorous with countless pantings. These I amused myself
with identifying, as I lay there.
[0873] Yes, I got great amusement, when
young, from their so-called silence.
[0874] The sound I liked best had
nothing noble about it.
[0875] It was the barking of the dogs, at night,
in the clusters of hovels up in the hills, where the stone-[-]
cutters lived, like generations of stone-cutters before them.
[0876] It came down to me in the house where I lay, in the house in
the plain, wild and soft, at the limit of earshot, soon weary.
[0877] The dogs of the valley replied with their gross bay all fangs and
jaws and foam.
[0878] From the hills another joy came down, I mean the[⁁] brief[⁁] [brief]
scattered lights that sprang up on their slopes at nightfall,

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Malone meurt / Malone Dies © 2017 Samuel Beckett Digital Manuscript Project.
Editors: Dirk Van Hulle, Pim Verhulst and Vincent Neyt