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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. 47/241
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The
fellows
seemed
to
him
to
have
grown
smaller
:
that
was
because
a
sprinter
had
knocked
him
down
the
day
before
,
a
fellow
out
of
second
of
grammar
.
He
had
been
thrown
by
the
fellow
's
machine
lightly
on
the
cinder
path
and
his
spectacles
had
been
broken
in
three
pieces
and
some
of
the
grit
of
the
cinders
had
gone
Into
his
mouth
.
That
was
why
the
fellows
seemed
to
him
smaller
and
farther
away
and
the
goalposts
so
thin
and
far
and
the
soft
grey
sky
so
high
up
.
But
there
was
no
play
on
the
football
grounds
for
cricket
was
coming
:
and
some
said
that
Barnes
would
be
prof
and
some
said
it
would
be
Flowers
.
And
all
over
the
playgrounds
they
were
playing
rounders
and
bowling
twisters
and
lobs
.
And
from
here
and
from
there
came
the
sounds
of
the
cricket
bats
through
the
soft
grey
air
.
They
said
:
pick
,
pack
,
pock
,
puck
:
little
drops
of
water
in
a
fountain
slowly
falling
in
the
brimming
bowl
.
Athy
,
who
had
been
silent
,
said
quietly
:
--
You
are
all
wrong
.
All
turned
towards
him
eagerly
.
--
Why
?
--
Do
you
know
?
--
Who
told
you
?
--
Tell
us
,
Athy
.
Athy
pointed
across
the
playground
to
where
Simon
Moonan
was
walking
by
himself
kicking
a
stone
before
him
.
