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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 146/821
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—
It
does
,
Mr
Bloom
said
.
Your
heart
perhaps
but
what
price
the
fellow
in
the
six
feet
by
two
with
his
toes
to
the
daisies
?
No
touching
that
.
Seat
of
the
affections
.
Broken
heart
.
A
pump
after
all
,
pumping
thousands
of
gallons
of
blood
every
day
.
One
fine
day
it
gets
bunged
up
:
and
there
you
are
.
Lots
of
them
lying
around
here
:
lungs
,
hearts
,
livers
.
Old
rusty
pumps
:
damn
the
thing
else
.
The
resurrection
and
the
life
.
Once
you
are
dead
you
are
dead
.
That
last
day
idea
.
Knocking
them
all
up
out
of
their
graves
.
Come
forth
,
Lazarus
!
And
he
came
fifth
and
lost
the
job
.
Get
up
!
Last
day
!
Then
every
fellow
mousing
around
for
his
liver
and
his
lights
and
the
rest
of
his
traps
.
Find
damn
all
of
himself
that
morning
.
Pennyweight
of
powder
in
a
skull
.
Twelve
grammes
one
pennyweight
.
Troy
measure
.
Corny
Kelleher
fell
into
step
at
their
side
.
—
Everything
went
off
A1
,
he
said
.
What
?
He
looked
on
them
from
his
drawling
eye
.
Policeman
’
s
shoulders
.
With
your
tooraloom
tooraloom
.
—
As
it
should
be
,
Mr
Kernan
said
.
—
What
?
Eh
?
Corny
Kelleher
said
.
Mr
Kernan
assured
him
.
—
Who
is
that
chap
behind
with
Tom
Kernan
?
John
Henry
Menton
asked
.
I
know
his
face
.
Ned
Lambert
glanced
back
.
