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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 320/821
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It
was
a
charming
day
.
The
lychgate
of
a
field
showed
Father
Conmee
breadths
of
cabbages
,
curtseying
to
him
with
ample
underleaves
.
The
sky
showed
him
a
flock
of
small
white
clouds
going
slowly
down
the
wind
.
Moutonner
,
the
French
said
.
A
just
and
homely
word
.
Father
Conmee
,
reading
his
office
,
watched
a
flock
of
muttoning
clouds
over
Rathcoffey
.
His
thinsocked
ankles
were
tickled
by
the
stubble
of
Clongowes
field
.
He
walked
there
,
reading
in
the
evening
,
and
heard
the
cries
of
the
boys
’
lines
at
their
play
,
young
cries
in
the
quiet
evening
.
He
was
their
rector
:
his
reign
was
mild
.
Father
Conmee
drew
off
his
gloves
and
took
his
rededged
breviary
out
.
An
ivory
bookmark
told
him
the
page
.
Nones
.
He
should
have
read
that
before
lunch
.
But
lady
Maxwell
had
come
.
Father
Conmee
read
in
secret
Pater
and
Ave
and
crossed
his
breast
.
Deus
in
adiutorium
.
He
walked
calmly
and
read
mutely
the
nones
,
walking
and
reading
till
he
came
to
Res
in
Beati
immaculati
:
Principium
verborum
tuorum
veritas
:
in
eternum
omnia
iudicia
iustitiæ
tuæ
.
A
flushed
young
man
came
from
a
gap
of
a
hedge
and
after
him
came
a
young
woman
with
wild
nodding
daisies
in
her
hand
.
The
young
man
raised
his
cap
abruptly
:
the
young
woman
abruptly
bent
and
with
slow
care
detached
from
her
light
skirt
a
clinging
twig
.
Father
Conmee
blessed
both
gravely
and
turned
a
thin
page
of
his
breviary
.
Sin
:
Principes
persecuti
sunt
me
gratis
:
et
a
verbis
tuis
formidavit
cor
meum
.
*
*
*
