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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 397/821
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—
O
!
O
!
jerked
Lenehan
,
gasping
at
each
stretch
.
O
!
But
easily
she
seized
her
prey
and
led
it
low
in
triumph
.
—
Why
don
’
t
you
grow
?
asked
Blazes
Boylan
.
Shebronze
,
dealing
from
her
oblique
jar
thick
syrupy
liquor
for
his
lips
,
looked
as
it
flowed
(
flower
in
his
coat
:
who
gave
him
?
)
,
and
syrupped
with
her
voice
:
—
Fine
goods
in
small
parcels
.
That
is
to
say
she
.
Neatly
she
poured
slowsyrupy
sloe
.
—
Here
’
s
fortune
,
Blazes
said
.
He
pitched
a
broad
coin
down
.
Coin
rang
.
—
Hold
on
,
said
Lenehan
,
till
I
.
.
.
—
Fortune
,
he
wished
,
lifting
his
bubbled
ale
.
