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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 314/821
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A
dark
back
went
before
them
,
step
of
a
pard
,
down
,
out
by
the
gateway
,
under
portcullis
barbs
.
They
followed
.
Offend
me
still
.
Speak
on
.
Kind
air
defined
the
coigns
of
houses
in
Kildare
street
.
No
birds
.
Frail
from
the
housetops
two
plumes
of
smoke
ascended
,
pluming
,
and
in
a
flaw
of
softness
softly
were
blown
.
Cease
to
strive
.
Peace
of
the
druid
priests
of
Cymbeline
:
hierophantic
:
from
wide
earth
an
altar
.
Laud
we
the
gods
And
let
our
crooked
smokes
climb
to
their
nostrils
From
our
bless
’
d
altars
.
The
superior
,
the
very
reverend
John
Conmee
S
.
J
.
reset
his
smooth
watch
in
his
interior
pocket
as
he
came
down
the
presbytery
steps
.
Five
to
three
.
Just
nice
time
to
walk
to
Artane
.
What
was
that
boy
’
s
name
again
?
Dignam
.
Yes
.
Vere
dignum
et
iustum
est
.
Brother
Swan
was
the
person
to
see
.
Mr
Cunningham
’
s
letter
.
Yes
.
Oblige
him
,
if
possible
.
Good
practical
catholic
:
useful
at
mission
time
.
A
onelegged
sailor
,
swinging
himself
onward
by
lazy
jerks
of
his
crutches
,
growled
some
notes
.
He
jerked
short
before
the
convent
of
the
sisters
of
charity
and
held
out
a
peaked
cap
for
alms
towards
the
very
reverend
John
Conmee
S
.
J
.
Father
Conmee
blessed
him
in
the
sun
for
his
purse
held
,
he
knew
,
one
silver
crown
.
