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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 454/821
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The
tear
is
bloody
near
your
eye
.
Talking
through
his
bloody
hat
.
Fitter
for
him
go
home
to
the
little
sleepwalking
bitch
he
married
,
Mooney
,
the
bumbailiff
’
s
daughter
,
mother
kept
a
kip
in
Hardwicke
street
,
that
used
to
be
stravaging
about
the
landings
Bantam
Lyons
told
me
that
was
stopping
there
at
two
in
the
morning
without
a
stitch
on
her
,
exposing
her
person
,
open
to
all
comers
,
fair
field
and
no
favour
.
—
The
noblest
,
the
truest
,
says
he
.
And
he
’
s
gone
,
poor
little
Willy
,
poor
little
Paddy
Dignam
.
And
mournful
and
with
a
heavy
heart
he
bewept
the
extinction
of
that
beam
of
heaven
.
Old
Garryowen
started
growling
again
at
Bloom
that
was
skeezing
round
the
door
.
—
Come
in
,
come
on
,
he
won
’
t
eat
you
,
says
the
citizen
.
So
Bloom
slopes
in
with
his
cod
’
s
eye
on
the
dog
and
he
asks
Terry
was
Martin
Cunningham
there
.
—
O
,
Christ
M
’
Keown
,
says
Joe
,
reading
one
of
the
letters
.
Listen
to
this
,
will
you
?
And
he
starts
reading
out
one
.
7
Hunter
Street
,
