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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 364/821
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Long
John
Fanning
made
no
way
for
them
.
He
removed
his
large
Henry
Clay
decisively
and
his
large
fierce
eyes
scowled
intelligently
over
all
their
faces
.
—
Are
the
conscript
fathers
pursuing
their
peaceful
deliberations
?
he
said
with
rich
acrid
utterance
to
the
assistant
town
clerk
.
Hell
open
to
christians
they
were
having
,
Jimmy
Henry
said
pettishly
,
about
their
damned
Irish
language
.
Where
was
the
marshal
,
he
wanted
to
know
,
to
keep
order
in
the
council
chamber
.
And
old
Barlow
the
macebearer
laid
up
with
asthma
,
no
mace
on
the
table
,
nothing
in
order
,
no
quorum
even
,
and
Hutchinson
,
the
lord
mayor
,
in
Llandudno
and
little
Lorcan
Sherlock
doing
locum
tenens
for
him
.
Damned
Irish
language
,
language
of
our
forefathers
.
Long
John
Fanning
blew
a
plume
of
smoke
from
his
lips
.
Martin
Cunningham
spoke
by
turns
,
twirling
the
peak
of
his
beard
,
to
the
assistant
town
clerk
and
the
subsheriff
,
while
John
Wyse
Nolan
held
his
peace
.
—
What
Dignam
was
that
?
long
John
Fanning
asked
.
Jimmy
Henry
made
a
grimace
and
lifted
his
left
foot
.
—
O
,
my
corns
!
he
said
plaintively
.
Come
upstairs
for
goodness
’
sake
till
I
sit
down
somewhere
.
Uff
!
Ooo
!
Mind
!
Testily
he
made
room
for
himself
beside
long
John
Fanning
’
s
flank
and
passed
in
and
up
the
stairs
.
