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Главная
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- Авторы
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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 19/241
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He
bent
down
to
rake
the
fire
.
He
had
a
long
back
like
the
long
back
of
a
tramhorse
.
He
shook
the
poker
gravely
and
nodded
his
head
at
the
fellow
out
of
third
of
grammar
.
Then
Brother
Michael
went
away
and
after
a
while
the
fellow
out
of
third
of
grammar
turned
in
towards
the
wall
and
fell
asleep
.
That
was
the
infirmary
.
He
was
sick
then
.
Had
they
written
home
to
tell
his
mother
and
father
?
But
it
would
be
quicker
for
one
of
the
priests
to
go
himself
to
tell
them
.
Or
he
would
write
a
letter
for
the
priest
to
bring
.
Dear
Mother
,
I
am
sick
.
I
want
to
go
home
.
Please
come
and
take
me
home.I
am
in
the
infirmary
.
Your
fond
son
,
Stephen
How
far
away
they
were
!
There
was
cold
sunlight
outside
the
window
.
He
wondered
if
he
would
die
.
You
could
die
just
the
same
on
a
sunny
day
.
He
might
die
before
his
mother
came
.
Then
he
would
have
a
dead
mass
in
the
chapel
like
the
way
the
fellows
had
told
him
it
was
when
Little
had
died
.
All
the
fellows
would
be
at
the
mass
,
dressed
in
black
,
all
with
sad
faces
.
Wells
too
would
be
there
but
no
fellow
would
look
at
him
.
The
rector
would
be
there
in
a
cope
of
black
and
gold
and
there
would
be
tall
yellow
candles
on
the
altar
and
round
the
catafalque
.
And
they
would
carry
the
coffin
out
of
the
chapel
slowly
and
he
would
be
buried
in
the
little
graveyard
of
the
community
off
the
main
avenue
of
limes
.
And
Wells
would
be
sorry
then
for
what
he
had
done
.
And
the
bell
would
toll
slowly
.
He
could
hear
the
tolling
.
He
said
over
to
himself
the
song
that
Brigid
had
taught
him
.
Dingdong
!
The
castle
bell
!
Farewell
,
my
mother
!
