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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 21/821
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—
A
quart
,
Stephen
said
.
He
watched
her
pour
into
the
measure
and
thence
into
the
jug
rich
white
milk
,
not
hers
.
Old
shrunken
paps
.
She
poured
again
a
measureful
and
a
tilly
.
Old
and
secret
she
had
entered
from
a
morning
world
,
maybe
a
messenger
.
She
praised
the
goodness
of
the
milk
,
pouring
it
out
.
Crouching
by
a
patient
cow
at
daybreak
in
the
lush
field
,
a
witch
on
her
toadstool
,
her
wrinkled
fingers
quick
at
the
squirting
dugs
.
They
lowed
about
her
whom
they
knew
,
dewsilky
cattle
.
Silk
of
the
kine
and
poor
old
woman
,
names
given
her
in
old
times
.
A
wandering
crone
,
lowly
form
of
an
immortal
serving
her
conqueror
and
her
gay
betrayer
,
their
common
cuckquean
,
a
messenger
from
the
secret
morning
.
To
serve
or
to
upbraid
,
whether
he
could
not
tell
:
but
scorned
to
beg
her
favour
.
—
It
is
indeed
,
ma
’
am
,
Buck
Mulligan
said
,
pouring
milk
into
their
cups
.
—
Taste
it
,
sir
,
she
said
.
He
drank
at
her
bidding
.
—
If
we
could
live
on
good
food
like
that
,
he
said
to
her
somewhat
loudly
,
we
wouldn
’
t
have
the
country
full
of
rotten
teeth
and
rotten
guts
.
Living
in
a
bogswamp
,
eating
cheap
food
and
the
streets
paved
with
dust
,
horsedung
and
consumptives
’
spits
.
—
Are
you
a
medical
student
,
sir
?
the
old
woman
asked
.
—
I
am
,
ma
’
am
,
Buck
Mulligan
answered
.
—
Look
at
that
now
,
she
said
.
