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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 242/821
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—
And
here
’
s
himself
and
pepper
on
him
,
Nosey
Flynn
said
.
Can
you
give
us
a
good
one
for
the
Gold
cup
?
—
I
’
m
off
that
,
Mr
Flynn
,
Davy
Byrne
answered
.
I
never
put
anything
on
a
horse
.
—
You
’
re
right
there
,
Nosey
Flynn
said
.
Mr
Bloom
ate
his
strips
of
sandwich
,
fresh
clean
bread
,
with
relish
of
disgust
pungent
mustard
,
the
feety
savour
of
green
cheese
.
Sips
of
his
wine
soothed
his
palate
.
Not
logwood
that
.
Tastes
fuller
this
weather
with
the
chill
off
.
Nice
quiet
bar
.
Nice
piece
of
wood
in
that
counter
.
Nicely
planed
.
Like
the
way
it
curves
there
.
—
I
wouldn
’
t
do
anything
at
all
in
that
line
,
Davy
Byrne
said
.
It
ruined
many
a
man
,
the
same
horses
.
Vintners
’
sweepstake
.
Licensed
for
the
sale
of
beer
,
wine
and
spirits
for
consumption
on
the
premises
.
Heads
I
win
tails
you
lose
.
—
True
for
you
,
Nosey
Flynn
said
.
Unless
you
’
re
in
the
know
.
There
’
s
no
straight
sport
going
now
.
Lenehan
gets
some
good
ones
.
He
’
s
giving
Sceptre
today
.
Zinfandel
’
s
the
favourite
,
Lord
Howard
de
Walden
’
s
,
won
at
Epsom
.
Morny
Cannon
is
riding
him
.
I
could
have
got
seven
to
one
against
Saint
Amant
a
fortnight
before
.
—
That
so
?
Davy
Byrne
said
.
.
.
