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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 126/241
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--
Andwith
others
.
--
With
women
,
my
child
?
--
Yes
,
father
.
--
Were
they
married
women
,
my
child
?
He
did
not
know
.
His
sins
trickled
from
his
lips
,
one
by
one
,
trickled
in
shameful
drops
from
his
soul
,
festering
and
oozing
like
a
sore
,
a
squalid
stream
of
vice
.
The
last
sins
oozed
forth
,
sluggish
,
filthy
.
There
was
no
more
to
tell
.
He
bowed
his
head
,
overcome
.
The
Priest
was
silent
.
Then
he
asked
:
--
How
old
are
you
,
my
child
?
--
Sixteen
,
father
.
The
priest
passed
his
hand
several
times
over
his
face
.
Then
,
resting
his
forehead
against
his
hand
,
he
leaned
towards
the
grating
and
,
with
eyes
still
averted
,
spoke
slowly
.
His
voice
was
weary
and
old
.
