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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 48/821
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Their
eyes
grew
bigger
as
the
lines
were
repeated
.
After
a
silence
Cochrane
said
:
—
What
is
it
,
sir
?
We
give
it
up
.
Stephen
,
his
throat
itching
,
answered
:
—
The
fox
burying
his
grandmother
under
a
hollybush
.
He
stood
up
and
gave
a
shout
of
nervous
laughter
to
which
their
cries
echoed
dismay
.
A
stick
struck
the
door
and
a
voice
in
the
corridor
called
:
—
Hockey
!
They
broke
asunder
,
sidling
out
of
their
benches
,
leaping
them
.
Quickly
they
were
gone
and
from
the
lumberroom
came
the
rattle
of
sticks
and
clamour
of
their
boots
and
tongues
.
Sargent
who
alone
had
lingered
came
forward
slowly
,
showing
an
open
copybook
.
His
tangled
hair
and
scraggy
neck
gave
witness
of
unreadiness
and
through
his
misty
glasses
weak
eyes
looked
up
pleading
.
On
his
cheek
,
dull
and
bloodless
,
a
soft
stain
of
ink
lay
,
dateshaped
,
recent
and
damp
as
a
snail
’
s
bed
.
He
held
out
his
copybook
.
The
word
Sums
was
written
on
the
headline
.
Beneath
were
sloping
figures
and
at
the
foot
a
crooked
signature
with
blind
loops
and
a
blot
.
