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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 236/821
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His
gorge
rose
.
Couldn
’
t
eat
a
morsel
here
.
Fellow
sharpening
knife
and
fork
to
eat
all
before
him
,
old
chap
picking
his
tootles
.
Slight
spasm
,
full
,
chewing
the
cud
.
Before
and
after
.
Grace
after
meals
.
Look
on
this
picture
then
on
that
.
Scoffing
up
stewgravy
with
sopping
sippets
of
bread
.
Lick
it
off
the
plate
,
man
!
Get
out
of
this
.
He
gazed
round
the
stooled
and
tabled
eaters
,
tightening
the
wings
of
his
nose
.
—
Two
stouts
here
.
—
One
corned
and
cabbage
.
That
fellow
ramming
a
knifeful
of
cabbage
down
as
if
his
life
depended
on
it
.
Good
stroke
.
Give
me
the
fidgets
to
look
.
Safer
to
eat
from
his
three
hands
.
Tear
it
limb
from
limb
.
Second
nature
to
him
.
Born
with
a
silver
knife
in
his
mouth
.
That
’
s
witty
,
I
think
.
Or
no
.
Silver
means
born
rich
.
Born
with
a
knife
.
But
then
the
allusion
is
lost
.
An
illgirt
server
gathered
sticky
clattering
plates
.
Rock
,
the
head
bailiff
,
standing
at
the
bar
blew
the
foamy
crown
from
his
tankard
.
Well
up
:
it
splashed
yellow
near
his
boot
.
A
diner
,
knife
and
fork
upright
,
elbows
on
table
,
ready
for
a
second
helping
stared
towards
the
foodlift
across
his
stained
square
of
newspaper
.
Other
chap
telling
him
something
with
his
mouth
full
.
Sympathetic
listener
.
Table
talk
.
I
munched
hum
un
thu
Unchster
Bunk
un
Munchday
.
Ha
?
Did
you
,
faith
?
Mr
Bloom
raised
two
fingers
doubtfully
to
his
lips
.
His
eyes
said
:
—
Not
here
.
Don
’
t
see
him
.
