. God help me, he's coming surely.

[She stays perfectly quiet. Martin Doul gropes in on right,
blind also.]

MARTIN DOUL -- [gloomily.] -- The devil mend Mary Doul for
putting lies on me, and letting on she was grand. The devil mend
the old Saint for letting me see it was lies. (He sits down near
her.) The devil mend Timmy the smith for killing me with hard
work, and keeping me with an empty, windy stomach in me, in the
day and in the night. Ten thousand devils mend the soul of Molly
Byrne -- (Mary Doul nods her head with approval.) -- and the bad,
wicked souls is hidden in all the women of the world. (He rocks
himself, with his hand over his face.) It's lonesome I'll be
from this day, and if living people is a bad lot, yet Mary Doul,
herself, and she a dirty, wrinkled-looking hag, was better maybe
to be sitting along with than no one at all. I'll be getting my
death now, I'm thinking, sitting alone in the cold air, hearing
the night coming, and the blackbirds flying round in the briars
crying to themselves, the time you'll hear one cart getting off a
long way in the east, and another cart getting off a long way in
the west, and a dog barking maybe, and a little wind turning the
sticks. (He listens and sighs heavily.) I'll be destroyed
sitting alone and losing my senses this time the way I'm after
losing my sight, for it'd make any person afeard to be sitting up
hearing the sound of his breath -- (he moves his feet on the
stones) -- and the noise of his feet, when it's a power of queer
things do be stirring, little sticks breaking, and the grass
moving -- (Mary Doul half sighs, and he turns on her in horror)
-- till you'd take your dying oath on sun and moon a thing was