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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 432/821
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By
rose
,
by
satiny
bosom
,
by
the
fondling
hand
,
by
slops
,
by
empties
,
by
popped
corks
,
greeting
in
going
,
past
eyes
and
maidenhair
,
bronze
and
faint
gold
in
deepseashadow
,
went
Bloom
,
soft
Bloom
,
I
feel
so
lonely
Bloom
.
Tap
.
Tap
.
Tap
.
Pray
for
him
,
prayed
the
bass
of
Dollard
.
You
who
hear
in
peace
.
Breathe
a
prayer
,
drop
a
tear
,
good
men
,
good
people
.
He
was
the
croppy
boy
.
Scaring
eavesdropping
boots
croppy
bootsboy
Bloom
in
the
Ormond
hallway
heard
the
growls
and
roars
of
bravo
,
fat
backslapping
,
their
boots
all
treading
,
boots
not
the
boots
the
boy
.
General
chorus
off
for
a
swill
to
wash
it
down
.
Glad
I
avoided
.
—
Come
on
,
Ben
,
Simon
Dedalus
cried
.
By
God
,
you
’
re
as
good
as
ever
you
were
.
—
Better
,
said
Tomgin
Kernan
.
Most
trenchant
rendition
of
that
ballad
,
upon
my
soul
and
honour
it
is
.
—
Lablache
,
said
Father
Cowley
.
Ben
Dollard
bulkily
cachuchad
towards
the
bar
,
mightily
praisefed
and
all
big
roseate
,
on
heavyfooted
feet
,
his
gouty
fingers
nakkering
castagnettes
in
the
air
.
Big
Benaben
Dollard
.
Big
Benben
.
Big
Benben
.
Rrr
.
