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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 63/821
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—
Yes
,
sir
,
Stephen
said
,
turning
back
at
the
gate
.
Mr
Deasy
halted
,
breathing
hard
and
swallowing
his
breath
.
—
I
just
wanted
to
say
,
he
said
.
Ireland
,
they
say
,
has
the
honour
of
being
the
only
country
which
never
persecuted
the
jews
.
Do
you
know
that
?
No
.
And
do
you
know
why
?
He
frowned
sternly
on
the
bright
air
.
—
Why
,
sir
?
Stephen
asked
,
beginning
to
smile
.
—
Because
she
never
let
them
in
,
Mr
Deasy
said
solemnly
.
A
coughball
of
laughter
leaped
from
his
throat
dragging
after
it
a
rattling
chain
of
phlegm
.
He
turned
back
quickly
,
coughing
,
laughing
,
his
lifted
arms
waving
to
the
air
.
—
She
never
let
them
in
,
he
cried
again
through
his
laughter
as
he
stamped
on
gaitered
feet
over
the
gravel
of
the
path
.
That
’
s
why
.
On
his
wise
shoulders
through
the
checkerwork
of
leaves
the
sun
flung
spangles
,
dancing
coins
.
Ineluctable
modality
of
the
visible
:
at
least
that
if
no
more
,
thought
through
my
eyes
.
Signatures
of
all
things
I
am
here
to
read
,
seaspawn
and
seawrack
,
the
nearing
tide
,
that
rusty
boot
.
Snotgreen
,
bluesilver
,
rust
:
coloured
signs
.
Limits
of
the
diaphane
.
But
he
adds
:
in
bodies
.
Then
he
was
aware
of
them
bodies
before
of
them
coloured
.
How
?
By
knocking
his
sconce
against
them
,
sure
.
Go
easy
.
Bald
he
was
and
a
millionaire
,
maestro
di
color
che
sanno
.
Limit
of
the
diaphane
in
.
Why
in
?
Diaphane
,
adiaphane
.
If
you
can
put
your
five
fingers
through
it
it
is
a
gate
,
if
not
a
door
.
Shut
your
eyes
and
see
.
