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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 240/821
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The
curate
served
.
—
How
much
is
that
?
—
Seven
d
.
,
sir
.
.
.
Thank
you
,
sir
.
Mr
Bloom
cut
his
sandwich
into
slender
strips
.
Mr
MacTrigger
.
Easier
than
the
dreamy
creamy
stuff
.
His
five
hundred
wives
.
Had
the
time
of
their
lives
.
—
Mustard
,
sir
?
—
Thank
you
.
He
studded
under
each
lifted
strip
yellow
blobs
.
Their
lives
.
I
have
it
.
It
grew
bigger
and
bigger
and
bigger
.
—
Getting
it
up
?
he
said
.
Well
,
it
’
s
like
a
company
idea
,
you
see
.
Part
shares
and
part
profits
.
—
Ay
,
now
I
remember
,
Nosey
Flynn
said
,
putting
his
hand
in
his
pocket
to
scratch
his
groin
.
Who
is
this
was
telling
me
?
Isn
’
t
Blazes
Boylan
mixed
up
in
it
?
A
warm
shock
of
air
heat
of
mustard
hanched
on
Mr
Bloom
’
s
heart
.
He
raised
his
eyes
and
met
the
stare
of
a
bilious
clock
.
Two
.
Pub
clock
five
minutes
fast
.
Time
going
on
.
Hands
moving
.
Two
.
Not
yet
.
