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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 358/821
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—
There
he
is
,
by
God
,
he
said
,
arse
and
pockets
.
Ben
Dollard
’
s
loose
blue
cutaway
and
square
hat
above
large
slops
crossed
the
quay
in
full
gait
from
the
metal
bridge
.
He
came
towards
them
at
an
amble
,
scratching
actively
behind
his
coattails
.
As
he
came
near
Mr
Dedalus
greeted
:
—
Hold
that
fellow
with
the
bad
trousers
.
—
Hold
him
now
,
Ben
Dollard
said
.
Mr
Dedalus
eyed
with
cold
wandering
scorn
various
points
of
Ben
Dollard
’
s
figure
.
Then
,
turning
to
Father
Cowley
with
a
nod
,
he
muttered
sneeringly
:
—
That
’
s
a
pretty
garment
,
isn
’
t
it
,
for
a
summer
’
s
day
?
—
Why
,
God
eternally
curse
your
soul
,
Ben
Dollard
growled
furiously
,
I
threw
out
more
clothes
in
my
time
than
you
ever
saw
.
He
stood
beside
them
beaming
,
on
them
first
and
on
his
roomy
clothes
from
points
of
which
Mr
Dedalus
flicked
fluff
,
saying
:
—
They
were
made
for
a
man
in
his
health
,
Ben
,
anyhow
.
