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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 22/821
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Stephen
listened
in
scornful
silence
.
She
bows
her
old
head
to
a
voice
that
speaks
to
her
loudly
,
her
bonesetter
,
her
medicineman
:
me
she
slights
.
To
the
voice
that
will
shrive
and
oil
for
the
grave
all
there
is
of
her
but
her
woman
’
s
unclean
loins
,
of
man
’
s
flesh
made
not
in
God
’
s
likeness
,
the
serpent
’
s
prey
.
And
to
the
loud
voice
that
now
bids
her
be
silent
with
wondering
unsteady
eyes
.
—
Do
you
understand
what
he
says
?
Stephen
asked
her
.
—
Is
it
French
you
are
talking
,
sir
?
the
old
woman
said
to
Haines
.
Haines
spoke
to
her
again
a
longer
speech
,
confidently
.
—
Irish
,
Buck
Mulligan
said
.
Is
there
Gaelic
on
you
?
—
I
thought
it
was
Irish
,
she
said
,
by
the
sound
of
it
.
Are
you
from
the
west
,
sir
?
—
I
am
an
Englishman
,
Haines
answered
.
—
He
’
s
English
,
Buck
Mulligan
said
,
and
he
thinks
we
ought
to
speak
Irish
in
Ireland
.
—
Sure
we
ought
to
,
the
old
woman
said
,
and
I
’
m
ashamed
I
don
’
t
speak
the
language
myself
.
I
’
m
told
it
’
s
a
grand
language
by
them
that
knows
.
—
Grand
is
no
name
for
it
,
said
Buck
Mulligan
.
Wonderful
entirely
.
Fill
us
out
some
more
tea
,
Kinch
.
Would
you
like
a
cup
,
ma
’
am
?
