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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 448/821
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—
Who
?
says
Joe
.
—
Breen
,
says
Alf
.
He
was
in
John
Henry
Menton
’
s
and
then
he
went
round
to
Collis
and
Ward
’
s
and
then
Tom
Rochford
met
him
and
sent
him
round
to
the
subsheriff
’
s
for
a
lark
.
O
God
,
I
’
ve
a
pain
laughing
.
U
.
p
:
up
.
The
long
fellow
gave
him
an
eye
as
good
as
a
process
and
now
the
bloody
old
lunatic
is
gone
round
to
Green
street
to
look
for
a
G
man
.
—
When
is
long
John
going
to
hang
that
fellow
in
Mountjoy
?
says
Joe
.
—
Bergan
,
says
Bob
Doran
,
waking
up
.
Is
that
Alf
Bergan
?
—
Yes
,
says
Alf
.
Hanging
?
Wait
till
I
show
you
.
Here
,
Terry
,
give
us
a
pony
.
That
bloody
old
fool
!
Ten
thousand
pounds
.
You
should
have
seen
long
John
’
s
eye
.
U
.
p
.
.
.
.
And
he
started
laughing
.
—
Who
are
you
laughing
at
?
says
Bob
Doran
.
Is
that
Bergan
?
—
Hurry
up
,
Terry
boy
,
says
Alf
.
Terence
O
’
Ryan
heard
him
and
straightway
brought
him
a
crystal
cup
full
of
the
foamy
ebon
ale
which
the
noble
twin
brothers
Bungiveagh
and
Bungardilaun
brew
ever
in
their
divine
alevats
,
cunning
as
the
sons
of
deathless
Leda
.
For
they
garner
the
succulent
berries
of
the
hop
and
mass
and
sift
and
bruise
and
brew
them
and
they
mix
therewith
sour
juices
and
bring
the
must
to
the
sacred
fire
and
cease
not
night
or
day
from
their
toil
,
those
cunning
brothers
,
lords
of
the
vat
.
Then
did
you
,
chivalrous
Terence
,
hand
forth
,
as
to
the
manner
born
,
that
nectarous
beverage
and
you
offered
the
crystal
cup
to
him
that
thirsted
,
the
soul
of
chivalry
,
in
beauty
akin
to
the
immortals
.
