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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 34/821
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—
You
’
re
not
a
believer
,
are
you
?
Haines
asked
.
I
mean
,
a
believer
in
the
narrow
sense
of
the
word
.
Creation
from
nothing
and
miracles
and
a
personal
God
.
—
There
’
s
only
one
sense
of
the
word
,
it
seems
to
me
,
Stephen
said
.
Haines
stopped
to
take
out
a
smooth
silver
case
in
which
twinkled
a
green
stone
.
He
sprang
it
open
with
his
thumb
and
offered
it
.
—
Thank
you
,
Stephen
said
,
taking
a
cigarette
.
Haines
helped
himself
and
snapped
the
case
to
.
He
put
it
back
in
his
sidepocket
and
took
from
his
waistcoatpocket
a
nickel
tinderbox
,
sprang
it
open
too
,
and
,
having
lit
his
cigarette
,
held
the
flaming
spunk
towards
Stephen
in
the
shell
of
his
hands
.
—
Yes
,
of
course
,
he
said
,
as
they
went
on
again
.
Either
you
believe
or
you
don
’
t
,
isn
’
t
it
?
Personally
I
couldn
’
t
stomach
that
idea
of
a
personal
God
.
You
don
’
t
stand
for
that
,
I
suppose
?
—
You
behold
in
me
,
Stephen
said
with
grim
displeasure
,
a
horrible
example
of
free
thought
.
He
walked
on
,
waiting
to
be
spoken
to
,
trailing
his
ashplant
by
his
side
.
Its
ferrule
followed
lightly
on
the
path
,
squealing
at
his
heels
.
My
familiar
,
after
me
,
calling
,
Steeeeeeeeeeeephen
!
A
wavering
line
along
the
path
.
They
will
walk
on
it
tonight
,
coming
here
in
the
dark
.
He
wants
that
key
.
It
is
mine
.
I
paid
the
rent
.
Now
I
eat
his
salt
bread
.
Give
him
the
key
too
.
All
.
He
will
ask
for
it
.
That
was
in
his
eyes
.
—
After
all
,
Haines
began
.
.
.
Stephen
turned
and
saw
that
the
cold
gaze
which
had
measured
him
was
not
all
unkind
.
