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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 221/821
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Going
to
crop
up
all
day
,
I
foresee
.
Who
’
s
dead
,
when
and
what
did
he
die
of
?
Turn
up
like
a
bad
penny
.
—
O
,
dear
me
,
Mrs
Breen
said
.
I
hope
it
wasn
’
t
any
near
relation
.
May
as
well
get
her
sympathy
.
—
Dignam
,
Mr
Bloom
said
.
An
old
friend
of
mine
.
He
died
quite
suddenly
,
poor
fellow
.
Heart
trouble
,
I
believe
.
Funeral
was
this
morning
.
Your
funeral
’
s
tomorrow
While
you
’
re
coming
through
the
rye
.
Diddlediddle
dumdum
Diddlediddle
.
.
.
—
Sad
to
lose
the
old
friends
,
Mrs
Breen
’
s
womaneyes
said
melancholily
.
Now
that
’
s
quite
enough
about
that
.
Just
:
quietly
:
husband
.
