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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 401/821
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Boylan
,
eyed
,
eyed
.
Tossed
to
fat
lips
his
chalice
,
drank
off
his
chalice
tiny
,
sucking
the
last
fat
violet
syrupy
drops
.
His
spellbound
eyes
went
after
,
after
her
gliding
head
as
it
went
down
the
bar
by
mirrors
,
gilded
arch
for
ginger
ale
,
hock
and
claret
glasses
shimmering
,
a
spiky
shell
,
where
it
concerted
,
mirrored
,
bronze
with
sunnier
bronze
.
Yes
,
bronze
from
anearby
.
—
.
.
.
Sweetheart
,
goodbye
!
—
I
’
m
off
,
said
Boylan
with
impatience
.
He
slid
his
chalice
brisk
away
,
grasped
his
change
.
—
Wait
a
shake
,
begged
Lenehan
,
drinking
quickly
.
I
wanted
to
tell
you
.
Tom
Rochford
.
.
.
—
Come
on
to
blazes
,
said
Blazes
Boylan
,
going
.
Lenehan
gulped
to
go
.
—
Got
the
horn
or
what
?
he
said
.
Wait
.
I
’
m
coming
.
He
followed
the
hasty
creaking
shoes
but
stood
by
nimbly
by
the
threshold
,
saluting
forms
,
a
bulky
with
a
slender
.
