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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 688/821
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CISSY
CAFFREY
:
(
Shrill
.
)
Stop
them
from
fighting
!
A
ROUGH
:
Our
men
retreated
.
PRIVATE
CARR
:
(
Tugging
at
his
belt
.
)
I
’
ll
wring
the
neck
of
any
fucker
says
a
word
against
my
fucking
king
.
BLOOM
:
(
Terrified
.
)
He
said
nothing
.
Not
a
word
.
A
pure
misunderstanding
.
THE
CITIZEN
:
Erin
go
bragh
!
(
Major
Tweedy
and
the
Citizen
exhibit
to
each
other
medals
,
decorations
,
trophies
of
war
,
wounds
.
Both
salute
with
fierce
hostility
.
)
PRIVATE
COMPTON
:
Go
it
,
Harry
.
Do
him
one
in
the
eye
.
He
’
s
a
proboer
.
STEPHEN
:
Did
I
?
When
?
BLOOM
:
(
To
the
redcoats
.
)
We
fought
for
you
in
South
Africa
,
Irish
missile
troops
.
Isn
’
t
that
history
?
Royal
Dublin
Fusiliers
.
Honoured
by
our
monarch
.
THE
NAVVY
:
(
Staggering
past
.
)
O
,
yes
!
O
God
,
yes
!
O
,
make
the
kwawr
a
krowawr
!
O
!
Bo
!
