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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 123/821
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Plasto
’
s
.
Sir
Philip
Crampton
’
s
memorial
fountain
bust
.
Who
was
he
?
—
How
do
you
do
?
Martin
Cunningham
said
,
raising
his
palm
to
his
brow
in
salute
.
—
He
doesn
’
t
see
us
,
Mr
Power
said
.
Yes
,
he
does
.
How
do
you
do
?
—
Who
?
Mr
Dedalus
asked
.
—
Blazes
Boylan
,
Mr
Power
said
.
There
he
is
airing
his
quiff
.
Just
that
moment
I
was
thinking
.
Mr
Dedalus
bent
across
to
salute
.
From
the
door
of
the
Red
Bank
the
white
disc
of
a
straw
hat
flashed
reply
:
spruce
figure
:
passed
.
Mr
Bloom
reviewed
the
nails
of
his
left
hand
,
then
those
of
his
right
hand
.
The
nails
,
yes
.
Is
there
anything
more
in
him
that
they
she
sees
?
Fascination
.
Worst
man
in
Dublin
.
That
keeps
him
alive
.
They
sometimes
feel
what
a
person
is
.
Instinct
.
But
a
type
like
that
.
My
nails
.
I
am
just
looking
at
them
:
well
pared
.
And
after
:
thinking
alone
.
Body
getting
a
bit
softy
.
I
would
notice
that
:
from
remembering
.
What
causes
that
?
I
suppose
the
skin
can
’
t
contract
quickly
enough
when
the
flesh
falls
off
.
But
the
shape
is
there
.
The
shape
is
there
still
.
Shoulders
.
Hips
.
Plump
.
Night
of
the
dance
dressing
.
Shift
stuck
between
the
cheeks
behind
.
He
clasped
his
hands
between
his
knees
and
,
satisfied
,
sent
his
vacant
glance
over
their
faces
.
