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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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MRS
BREEN
:
Too
.
.
.
BLOOM
:
Yes
.
And
Molly
was
laughing
because
Rogers
and
Maggot
O
’
Reilly
were
mimicking
a
cock
as
we
passed
a
farmhouse
and
Marcus
Tertius
Moses
,
the
tea
merchant
,
drove
past
us
in
a
gig
with
his
daughter
,
Dancer
Moses
was
her
name
,
and
the
poodle
in
her
lap
bridled
up
and
you
asked
me
if
I
ever
heard
or
read
or
knew
or
came
across
.
.
.
MRS
BREEN
:
(
Eagerly
.
)
Yes
,
yes
,
yes
,
yes
,
yes
,
yes
,
yes
.
(
She
fades
from
his
side
.
Followed
by
the
whining
dog
he
walks
on
towards
hellsgates
.
In
an
archway
a
standing
woman
,
bent
forward
,
her
feet
apart
,
pisses
cowily
.
Outside
a
shuttered
pub
a
bunch
of
loiterers
listen
to
a
tale
which
their
brokensnouted
gaffer
rasps
out
with
raucous
humour
.
An
armless
pair
of
them
flop
wrestling
,
growling
,
in
maimed
sodden
playfight
.
)
THE
GAFFER
:
(
Crouches
,
his
voice
twisted
in
his
snout
.
)
And
when
Cairns
came
down
from
the
scaffolding
in
Beaver
street
what
was
he
after
doing
it
into
only
into
the
bucket
of
porter
that
was
there
waiting
on
the
shavings
for
Derwan
’
s
plasterers
.
THE
LOITERERS
:
(
Guffaw
with
cleft
palates
.
)
O
jays
!
(
Their
paintspeckled
hats
wag
.
Spattered
with
size
and
lime
of
their
lodges
they
frisk
limblessly
about
him
.
)
BLOOM
:
Coincidence
too
.
They
think
it
funny
.
Anything
but
that
.
Broad
daylight
.
Trying
to
walk
.
Lucky
no
woman
.
THE
LOITERERS
:
Jays
,
that
’
s
a
good
one
.
Glauber
salts
.
O
jays
,
into
the
men
’
s
porter
.
