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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 233/821
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He
went
on
by
la
maison
Claire
.
Wait
.
The
full
moon
was
the
night
we
were
Sunday
fortnight
exactly
there
is
a
new
moon
.
Walking
down
by
the
Tolka
.
Not
bad
for
a
Fairview
moon
.
She
was
humming
.
The
young
May
moon
she
’
s
beaming
,
love
.
He
other
side
of
her
.
Elbow
,
arm
.
He
.
Glowworm
’
s
la
-
amp
is
gleaming
,
love
.
Touch
.
Fingers
.
Asking
.
Answer
.
Yes
.
Stop
.
Stop
.
If
it
was
it
was
.
Must
.
Mr
Bloom
,
quickbreathing
,
slowlier
walking
passed
Adam
court
.
With
a
keep
quiet
relief
his
eyes
took
note
this
is
the
street
here
middle
of
the
day
of
Bob
Doran
’
s
bottle
shoulders
.
On
his
annual
bend
,
M
’
Coy
said
.
They
drink
in
order
to
say
or
do
something
or
cherchez
la
femme
.
Up
in
the
Coombe
with
chummies
and
streetwalkers
and
then
the
rest
of
the
year
sober
as
a
judge
.
Yes
.
Thought
so
.
Sloping
into
the
Empire
.
Gone
.
Plain
soda
would
do
him
good
.
Where
Pat
Kinsella
had
his
Harp
theatre
before
Whitbred
ran
the
Queen
’
s
.
Broth
of
a
boy
.
Dion
Boucicault
business
with
his
harvestmoon
face
in
a
poky
bonnet
.
Three
Purty
Maids
from
School
.
How
time
flies
,
eh
?
Showing
long
red
pantaloons
under
his
skirts
.
Drinkers
,
drinking
,
laughed
spluttering
,
their
drink
against
their
breath
.
More
power
,
Pat
.
Coarse
red
:
fun
for
drunkards
:
guffaw
and
smoke
.
Take
off
that
white
hat
.
His
parboiled
eyes
.
Where
is
he
now
?
Beggar
somewhere
.
The
harp
that
once
did
starve
us
all
.
I
was
happier
then
.
Or
was
that
I
?
Or
am
I
now
I
?
Twentyeight
I
was
.
She
twentythree
.
When
we
left
Lombard
street
west
something
changed
.
Could
never
like
it
again
after
Rudy
.
Can
’
t
bring
back
time
.
Like
holding
water
in
your
hand
.
Would
you
go
back
to
then
?
Just
beginning
then
.
Would
you
?
Are
you
not
happy
in
your
home
you
poor
little
naughty
boy
?
Wants
to
sew
on
buttons
for
me
.
I
must
answer
.
Write
it
in
the
library
.
Grafton
street
gay
with
housed
awnings
lured
his
senses
.
Muslin
prints
,
silkdames
and
dowagers
,
jingle
of
harnesses
,
hoofthuds
lowringing
in
the
baking
causeway
.
Thick
feet
that
woman
has
in
the
white
stockings
.
Hope
the
rain
mucks
them
up
on
her
.
Countrybred
chawbacon
.
All
the
beef
to
the
heels
were
in
.
Always
gives
a
woman
clumsy
feet
.
Molly
looks
out
of
plumb
.
He
passed
,
dallying
,
the
windows
of
Brown
Thomas
,
silk
mercers
.
Cascades
of
ribbons
.
Flimsy
China
silks
.
A
tilted
urn
poured
from
its
mouth
a
flood
of
bloodhued
poplin
:
lustrous
blood
.
The
huguenots
brought
that
here
.
La
causa
è
santa
!
Tara
tara
.
Great
chorus
that
.
Taree
tara
.
Must
be
washed
in
rainwater
.
Meyerbeer
.
Tara
:
bom
bom
bom
.
