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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 310/821
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—
Longworth
is
awfully
sick
,
he
said
,
after
what
you
wrote
about
that
old
hake
Gregory
.
O
you
inquisitional
drunken
jewjesuit
!
She
gets
you
a
job
on
the
paper
and
then
you
go
and
slate
her
drivel
to
Jaysus
.
Couldn
’
t
you
do
the
Yeats
touch
?
He
went
on
and
down
,
mopping
,
chanting
with
waving
graceful
arms
:
—
The
most
beautiful
book
that
has
come
out
of
our
country
in
my
time
.
One
thinks
of
Homer
.
He
stopped
at
the
stairfoot
.
—
I
have
conceived
a
play
for
the
mummers
,
he
said
solemnly
.
The
pillared
Moorish
hall
,
shadows
entwined
.
Gone
the
nine
men
’
s
morrice
with
caps
of
indices
.
In
sweetly
varying
voices
Buck
Mulligan
read
his
tablet
:
Everyman
His
Own
Wife
or
A
Honeymoon
in
the
Hand
