'Malone', writes Malone, 'is what I am called now. ' On his deathbed, and wiling away the time with stories, the octogenarian Malone's account of his condition is intermittent and contradictory, shifting with the vagaries of the passing days: without mellowness, without elegiacs; wittier, jauntier, and capable of wilder rages than Molloy. The sound I liked best had nothing noble about it. 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. it came down to me where I lay, in the house Malone Dies - Samuel Beckett od authora Samuel Beckett a nakladatelství za skvělé ceny na e-shopu Martinus. cz.