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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 93/821
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He
felt
heavy
,
full
:
then
a
gentle
loosening
of
his
bowels
.
He
stood
up
,
undoing
the
waistband
of
his
trousers
.
The
cat
mewed
to
him
.
—
Miaow
!
he
said
in
answer
.
Wait
till
I
’
m
ready
.
Heaviness
:
hot
day
coming
.
Too
much
trouble
to
fag
up
the
stairs
to
the
landing
.
A
paper
.
He
liked
to
read
at
stool
.
Hope
no
ape
comes
knocking
just
as
I
’
m
.
In
the
tabledrawer
he
found
an
old
number
of
Titbits
.
He
folded
it
under
his
armpit
,
went
to
the
door
and
opened
it
.
The
cat
went
up
in
soft
bounds
.
Ah
,
wanted
to
go
upstairs
,
curl
up
in
a
ball
on
the
bed
.
Listening
,
he
heard
her
voice
:
—
Come
,
come
,
pussy
.
Come
.
He
went
out
through
the
backdoor
into
the
garden
:
stood
to
listen
towards
the
next
garden
.
No
sound
.
Perhaps
hanging
clothes
out
to
dry
.
The
maid
was
in
the
garden
.
Fine
morning
.
He
bent
down
to
regard
a
lean
file
of
spearmint
growing
by
the
wall
.
Make
a
summerhouse
here
.
Scarlet
runners
.
Virginia
creepers
.
Want
to
manure
the
whole
place
over
,
scabby
soil
.
A
coat
of
liver
of
sulphur
.
All
soil
like
that
without
dung
.
Household
slops
.
Loam
,
what
is
this
that
is
?
The
hens
in
the
next
garden
:
their
droppings
are
very
good
top
dressing
.
Best
of
all
though
are
the
cattle
,
especially
when
they
are
fed
on
those
oilcakes
.
Mulch
of
dung
.
Best
thing
to
clean
ladies
’
kid
gloves
.
Dirty
cleans
.
Ashes
too
.
Reclaim
the
whole
place
.
Grow
peas
in
that
corner
there
.
Lettuce
.
Always
have
fresh
greens
then
.
Still
gardens
have
their
drawbacks
.
That
bee
or
bluebottle
here
Whitmonday
.
