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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 159/821
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Red
Murray
’
s
long
shears
sliced
out
the
advertisement
from
the
newspaper
in
four
clean
strokes
.
Scissors
and
paste
.
—
I
’
ll
go
through
the
printingworks
,
Mr
Bloom
said
,
taking
the
cut
square
.
—
Of
course
,
if
he
wants
a
par
,
Red
Murray
said
earnestly
,
a
pen
behind
his
ear
,
we
can
do
him
one
.
—
Right
,
Mr
Bloom
said
with
a
nod
.
I
’
ll
rub
that
in
.
We
.
WILLIAM
BRAYDEN
,
ESQUIRE
,
OF
OAKLANDS
,
SANDYMOUNT
Red
Murray
touched
Mr
Bloom
’
s
arm
with
the
shears
and
whispered
:
—
Brayden
.
Mr
Bloom
turned
and
saw
the
liveried
porter
raise
his
lettered
cap
as
a
stately
figure
entered
between
the
newsboards
of
the
Weekly
Freeman
and
National
Press
and
the
Freeman
’
s
Journal
and
National
Press
.
Dullthudding
Guinness
’
s
barrels
.
It
passed
statelily
up
the
staircase
,
steered
by
an
umbrella
,
a
solemn
beardframed
face
.
The
broadcloth
back
ascended
each
step
:
back
.
All
his
brains
are
in
the
nape
of
his
neck
,
Simon
Dedalus
says
.
Welts
of
flesh
behind
on
him
.
Fat
folds
of
neck
,
fat
,
neck
,
fat
,
neck
.
