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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 108/821
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He
stood
aside
watching
their
blind
masks
pass
down
the
aisle
,
one
by
one
,
and
seek
their
places
.
He
approached
a
bench
and
seated
himself
in
its
corner
,
nursing
his
hat
and
newspaper
.
These
pots
we
have
to
wear
.
We
ought
to
have
hats
modelled
on
our
heads
.
They
were
about
him
here
and
there
,
with
heads
still
bowed
in
their
crimson
halters
,
waiting
for
it
to
melt
in
their
stomachs
.
Something
like
those
mazzoth
:
it
’
s
that
sort
of
bread
:
unleavened
shewbread
.
Look
at
them
.
Now
I
bet
it
makes
them
feel
happy
.
Lollipop
.
It
does
.
Yes
,
bread
of
angels
it
’
s
called
.
There
’
s
a
big
idea
behind
it
,
kind
of
kingdom
of
God
is
within
you
feel
.
First
communicants
.
Hokypoky
penny
a
lump
.
Then
feel
all
like
one
family
party
,
same
in
the
theatre
,
all
in
the
same
swim
.
They
do
.
I
’
m
sure
of
that
.
Not
so
lonely
.
In
our
confraternity
.
Then
come
out
a
bit
spreeish
.
Let
off
steam
.
Thing
is
if
you
really
believe
in
it
.
Lourdes
cure
,
waters
of
oblivion
,
and
the
Knock
apparition
,
statues
bleeding
.
Old
fellow
asleep
near
that
confessionbox
.
Hence
those
snores
.
Blind
faith
.
Safe
in
the
arms
of
kingdom
come
.
Lulls
all
pain
.
Wake
this
time
next
year
.
He
saw
the
priest
stow
the
communion
cup
away
,
well
in
,
and
kneel
an
instant
before
it
,
showing
a
large
grey
bootsole
from
under
the
lace
affair
he
had
on
.
Suppose
he
lost
the
pin
of
his
.
He
wouldn
’
t
know
what
to
do
to
.
Bald
spot
behind
.
Letters
on
his
back
:
I
.
N
.
R
.
I
?
No
:
I
.
H
.
S
.
Molly
told
me
one
time
I
asked
her
.
I
have
sinned
:
or
no
:
I
have
suffered
,
it
is
.
And
the
other
one
?
Iron
nails
ran
in
.
Meet
one
Sunday
after
the
rosary
.
Do
not
deny
my
request
.
Turn
up
with
a
veil
and
black
bag
.
Dusk
and
the
light
behind
her
.
She
might
be
here
with
a
ribbon
round
her
neck
and
do
the
other
thing
all
the
same
on
the
sly
.
Their
character
.
That
fellow
that
turned
queen
’
s
evidence
on
the
invincibles
he
used
to
receive
the
,
Carey
was
his
name
,
the
communion
every
morning
.
This
very
church
.
Peter
Carey
,
yes
.
No
,
Peter
Claver
I
am
thinking
of
.
Denis
Carey
.
And
just
imagine
that
.
Wife
and
six
children
at
home
.
And
plotting
that
murder
all
the
time
.
Those
crawthumpers
,
now
that
’
s
a
good
name
for
them
,
there
’
s
always
something
shiftylooking
about
them
.
They
’
re
not
straight
men
of
business
either
.
O
,
no
,
she
’
s
not
here
:
the
flower
:
no
,
no
.
By
the
way
,
did
I
tear
up
that
envelope
?
Yes
:
under
the
bridge
.
The
priest
was
rinsing
out
the
chalice
:
then
he
tossed
off
the
dregs
smartly
.
Wine
.
Makes
it
more
aristocratic
than
for
example
if
he
drank
what
they
are
used
to
Guinness
’
s
porter
or
some
temperance
beverage
Wheatley
’
s
Dublin
hop
bitters
or
Cantrell
and
Cochrane
’
s
ginger
ale
(
aromatic
)
.
Doesn
’
t
give
them
any
of
it
:
shew
wine
:
only
the
other
.
Cold
comfort
.
Pious
fraud
but
quite
right
:
otherwise
they
’
d
have
one
old
booser
worse
than
another
coming
along
,
cadging
for
a
drink
.
Queer
the
whole
atmosphere
of
the
.
Quite
right
.
Perfectly
right
that
is
.
Mr
Bloom
looked
back
towards
the
choir
.
Not
going
to
be
any
music
.
Pity
.
Who
has
the
organ
here
I
wonder
?
Old
Glynn
he
knew
how
to
make
that
instrument
talk
,
the
vibrato
:
fifty
pounds
a
year
they
say
he
had
in
Gardiner
street
.
Molly
was
in
fine
voice
that
day
,
the
Stabat
Mater
of
Rossini
.
Father
Bernard
Vaughan
’
s
sermon
first
.
Christ
or
Pilate
?
Christ
,
but
don
’
t
keep
us
all
night
over
it
.
Music
they
wanted
.
Footdrill
stopped
.
Could
hear
a
pin
drop
.
I
told
her
to
pitch
her
voice
against
that
corner
.
I
could
feel
the
thrill
in
the
air
,
the
full
,
the
people
looking
up
:
Quis
est
homo
.
Some
of
that
old
sacred
music
splendid
.
Mercadante
:
seven
last
words
.
Mozart
’
s
twelfth
mass
:
Gloria
in
that
.
Those
old
popes
keen
on
music
,
on
art
and
statues
and
pictures
of
all
kinds
.
Palestrina
for
example
too
.
They
had
a
gay
old
time
while
it
lasted
.
Healthy
too
,
chanting
,
regular
hours
,
then
brew
liqueurs
.
Benedictine
.
Green
Chartreuse
.
Still
,
having
eunuchs
in
their
choir
that
was
coming
it
a
bit
thick
.
What
kind
of
voice
is
it
?
Must
be
curious
to
hear
after
their
own
strong
basses
.
Connoisseurs
.
Suppose
they
wouldn
’
t
feel
anything
after
.
Kind
of
a
placid
.
No
worry
.
Fall
into
flesh
,
don
’
t
they
?
Gluttons
,
tall
,
long
legs
.
Who
knows
?
Eunuch
.
One
way
out
of
it
.
