La búsqueda que no cesa. Los almendros y los prunos ya han florecido.

"On Saturday, the 11th of April, he received a telegram: "Mother dying. Come home. Father." Mr.Joyce left Paris.

May Murray Joyce spent a long time dying, that kindly concerned, gentle woman. She lay in bed (...). 

She begged her Jim to turn back to the sacraments of the Church. Otherwise tender and yielding, he sang Yeats to her:

Who will go drive with Fergus now,

And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,

And dance upon the level shore?

Young man lift up your russet brow,

And lift your tender eyelids, maid

And brood on hopes and fear no more."