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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 190/192
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"
What
was
he
?
"
asked
Gabriel
,
still
ironically
.
"
He
was
in
the
gasworks
,
"
she
said
.
Gabriel
felt
humiliated
by
the
failure
of
his
irony
and
by
the
evocation
of
this
figure
from
the
dead
,
a
boy
in
the
gasworks
.
While
he
had
been
full
of
memories
of
their
secret
life
together
,
full
of
tenderness
and
joy
and
desire
,
she
had
been
comparing
him
in
her
mind
with
another
.
A
shameful
consciousness
of
his
own
person
assailed
him
.
He
saw
himself
as
a
ludicrous
figure
,
acting
as
a
pennyboy
for
his
aunts
,
a
nervous
,
well-meaning
sentimentalist
,
orating
to
vulgarians
and
idealising
his
own
clownish
lusts
,
the
pitiable
fatuous
fellow
he
had
caught
a
glimpse
of
in
the
mirror
.
Instinctively
he
turned
his
back
more
to
the
light
lest
she
might
see
the
shame
that
burned
upon
his
forehead
.
He
tried
to
keep
up
his
tone
of
cold
interrogation
,
but
his
voice
when
he
spoke
was
humble
and
indifferent
.
"
I
suppose
you
were
in
love
with
this
Michael
Furey
,
Gretta
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
was
great
with
him
at
that
time
,
"
she
said
.
Her
voice
was
veiled
and
sad
.
Gabriel
,
feeling
now
how
vain
it
would
be
to
try
to
lead
her
whither
he
had
purposed
,
caressed
one
of
her
hands
and
said
,
also
sadly
:
"
And
what
did
he
die
of
so
young
,
Gretta
?
Consumption
,
was
it
?
"
"
I
think
he
died
for
me
,
"
she
answered
.
A
vague
terror
seized
Gabriel
at
this
answer
,
as
if
,
at
that
hour
when
he
had
hoped
to
triumph
,
some
impalpable
and
vindictive
being
was
coming
against
him
,
gathering
forces
against
him
in
its
vague
world
.
But
he
shook
himself
free
of
it
with
an
effort
of
reason
and
continued
to
caress
her
hand
.
He
did
not
question
her
again
,
for
he
felt
that
she
would
tell
him
of
herself
.
Her
hand
was
warm
and
moist
:
it
did
not
respond
to
his
touch
,
but
he
continued
to
caress
it
just
as
he
had
caressed
her
first
letter
to
him
that
spring
morning
.
