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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 94/821
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He
walked
on
.
Where
is
my
hat
,
by
the
way
?
Must
have
put
it
back
on
the
peg
.
Or
hanging
up
on
the
floor
.
Funny
I
don
’
t
remember
that
.
Hallstand
too
full
.
Four
umbrellas
,
her
raincloak
.
Picking
up
the
letters
.
Drago
’
s
shopbell
ringing
.
Queer
I
was
just
thinking
that
moment
.
Brown
brillantined
hair
over
his
collar
.
Just
had
a
wash
and
brushup
.
Wonder
have
I
time
for
a
bath
this
morning
.
Tara
street
.
Chap
in
the
paybox
there
got
away
James
Stephens
,
they
say
.
O
’
Brien
.
Deep
voice
that
fellow
Dlugacz
has
.
Agendath
what
is
it
?
Now
,
my
miss
.
Enthusiast
.
He
kicked
open
the
crazy
door
of
the
jakes
.
Better
be
careful
not
to
get
these
trousers
dirty
for
the
funeral
.
He
went
in
,
bowing
his
head
under
the
low
lintel
.
Leaving
the
door
ajar
,
amid
the
stench
of
mouldy
limewash
and
stale
cobwebs
he
undid
his
braces
.
Before
sitting
down
he
peered
through
a
chink
up
at
the
nextdoor
windows
.
The
king
was
in
his
countinghouse
.
Nobody
.
Asquat
on
the
cuckstool
he
folded
out
his
paper
,
turning
its
pages
over
on
his
bared
knees
.
Something
new
and
easy
.
No
great
hurry
.
Keep
it
a
bit
.
Our
prize
titbit
:
Matcham
’
s
Masterstroke
.
Written
by
Mr
Philip
Beaufoy
,
Playgoers
’
Club
,
London
.
Payment
at
the
rate
of
one
guinea
a
column
has
been
made
to
the
writer
.
Three
and
a
half
.
Three
pounds
three
.
Three
pounds
,
thirteen
and
six
.
Quietly
he
read
,
restraining
himself
,
the
first
column
and
,
yielding
but
resisting
,
began
the
second
.
Midway
,
his
last
resistance
yielding
,
he
allowed
his
bowels
to
ease
themselves
quietly
as
he
read
,
reading
still
patiently
that
slight
constipation
of
yesterday
quite
gone
.
Hope
it
’
s
not
too
big
bring
on
piles
again
.
No
,
just
right
.
So
.
Ah
!
Costive
.
One
tabloid
of
cascara
sagrada
.
Life
might
be
so
.
It
did
not
move
or
touch
him
but
it
was
something
quick
and
neat
.
Print
anything
now
.
Silly
season
.
He
read
on
,
seated
calm
above
his
own
rising
smell
.
Neat
certainly
.
Matcham
often
thinks
of
the
masterstroke
by
which
he
won
the
laughing
witch
who
now
.
Begins
and
ends
morally
.
Hand
in
hand
.
Smart
.
He
glanced
back
through
what
he
had
read
and
,
while
feeling
his
water
flow
quietly
,
he
envied
kindly
Mr
Beaufoy
who
had
written
it
and
received
payment
of
three
pounds
,
thirteen
and
six
.
Might
manage
a
sketch
.
By
Mr
and
Mrs
L
.
M
.
Bloom
.
Invent
a
story
for
some
proverb
.
Which
?
Time
I
used
to
try
jotting
down
on
my
cuff
what
she
said
dressing
.
Dislike
dressing
together
.
Nicked
myself
shaving
.
Biting
her
nether
lip
,
hooking
the
placket
of
her
skirt
.
Timing
her
.
9
.
15
.
Did
Roberts
pay
you
yet
?
9
.
20
.
What
had
Gretta
Conroy
on
?
9
.
23
.
What
possessed
me
to
buy
this
comb
?
9
.
24
.
I
’
m
swelled
after
that
cabbage
.
A
speck
of
dust
on
the
patent
leather
of
her
boot
.
Rubbing
smartly
in
turn
each
welt
against
her
stockinged
calf
.
Morning
after
the
bazaar
dance
when
May
’
s
band
played
Ponchielli
’
s
dance
of
the
hours
.
Explain
that
:
morning
hours
,
noon
,
then
evening
coming
on
,
then
night
hours
.
Washing
her
teeth
.
That
was
the
first
night
.
Her
head
dancing
.
Her
fansticks
clicking
.
Is
that
Boylan
well
off
?
He
has
money
Why
?
I
noticed
he
had
a
good
rich
smell
off
his
breath
dancing
.
No
use
humming
then
.
Allude
to
it
.
Strange
kind
of
music
that
last
night
.
The
mirror
was
in
shadow
.
She
rubbed
her
handglass
briskly
on
her
woollen
vest
against
her
full
wagging
bub
.
Peering
into
it
.
Lines
in
her
eyes
.
It
wouldn
’
t
pan
out
somehow
.
Evening
hours
,
girls
in
grey
gauze
.
Night
hours
then
:
black
with
daggers
and
eyemasks
.
Poetical
idea
:
pink
,
then
golden
,
then
grey
,
then
black
.
Still
,
true
to
life
also
.
Day
:
then
the
night
.
