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ArtistIn the room with marble floor and bay window, the mellow rays of the setting sun contriving, a man in bed, his body had given up its useless struggle to resist the relentless progress of the paralyses that overwhelmed it, and now he lay in his bed more a carcass than a man. Both his nightshirt and his bed sheets were stained where gruel had dripped from the spoon with which his wife fed him. His hair was lank, and his beard straggled from the sharp bones of his jaw. His useless hands lay occasionally plucking at the soiled sheet. His skin had an old sheen to it. An unhealthy iridescence, as though he was made of melting wax. He was almost unrecognisable, except for his eyes. watercolour in silk, less contrast, less darkness, as they glinted through the window. art nouveau,