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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 428/821
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They
listened
.
Tankards
and
miss
Kennedy
.
George
Lidwell
,
eyelid
well
expressive
,
fullbusted
satin
.
Kernan
.
Si
.
The
sighing
voice
of
sorrow
sang
.
His
sins
.
Since
Easter
he
had
cursed
three
times
.
You
bitch
’
s
bast
.
And
once
at
masstime
he
had
gone
to
play
.
Once
by
the
churchyard
he
had
passed
and
for
his
mother
’
s
rest
he
had
not
prayed
.
A
boy
.
A
croppy
boy
.
Bronze
,
listening
,
by
the
beerpull
gazed
far
away
.
Soulfully
.
Doesn
’
t
half
know
I
’
m
.
Molly
great
dab
at
seeing
anyone
looking
.
Bronze
gazed
far
sideways
.
Mirror
there
.
Is
that
best
side
of
her
face
?
They
always
know
.
Knock
at
the
door
.
Last
tip
to
titivate
.
Cockcarracarra
.
What
do
they
think
when
they
hear
music
?
Way
to
catch
rattlesnakes
.
Night
Michael
Gunn
gave
us
the
box
.
Tuning
up
.
Shah
of
Persia
liked
that
best
.
Remind
him
of
home
sweet
home
.
Wiped
his
nose
in
curtain
too
.
Custom
his
country
perhaps
.
That
’
s
music
too
.
Not
as
bad
as
it
sounds
.
Tootling
.
Brasses
braying
asses
through
uptrunks
.
Doublebasses
helpless
,
gashes
in
their
sides
.
Woodwinds
mooing
cows
.
Semigrand
open
crocodile
music
hath
jaws
.
Woodwind
like
Goodwin
’
s
name
.
She
looked
fine
.
Her
crocus
dress
she
wore
lowcut
,
belongings
on
show
.
Clove
her
breath
was
always
in
theatre
when
she
bent
to
ask
a
question
.
Told
her
what
Spinoza
says
in
that
book
of
poor
papa
’
s
.
Hypnotised
,
listening
.
Eyes
like
that
.
She
bent
.
Chap
in
dresscircle
staring
down
into
her
with
his
operaglass
for
all
he
was
worth
.
Beauty
of
music
you
must
hear
twice
.
Nature
woman
half
a
look
.
God
made
the
country
man
the
tune
.
Met
him
pike
hoses
.
Philosophy
.
O
rocks
!
All
gone
.
All
fallen
.
At
the
siege
of
Ross
his
father
,
at
Gorey
all
his
brothers
fell
.
To
Wexford
,
we
are
the
boys
of
Wexford
,
he
would
.
Last
of
his
name
and
race
.
I
too
.
Last
of
my
race
.
Milly
young
student
.
Well
,
my
fault
perhaps
.
No
son
.
Rudy
.
Too
late
now
.
Or
if
not
?
If
not
?
If
still
?
