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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 98/821
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His
eyes
on
the
black
tie
and
clothes
he
asked
with
low
respect
:
—
Is
there
any
.
.
.
no
trouble
I
hope
?
I
see
you
’
re
.
.
.
—
O
,
no
,
Mr
Bloom
said
.
Poor
Dignam
,
you
know
.
The
funeral
is
today
.
—
To
be
sure
,
poor
fellow
.
So
it
is
.
What
time
?
A
photo
it
isn
’
t
.
A
badge
maybe
.
—
E
.
.
.
eleven
,
Mr
Bloom
answered
.
—
I
must
try
to
get
out
there
,
M
’
Coy
said
.
Eleven
,
is
it
?
I
only
heard
it
last
night
.
Who
was
telling
me
?
Holohan
.
You
know
Hoppy
?
—
I
know
.
Mr
Bloom
gazed
across
the
road
at
the
outsider
drawn
up
before
the
door
of
the
Grosvenor
.
The
porter
hoisted
the
valise
up
on
the
well
.
She
stood
still
,
waiting
,
while
the
man
,
husband
,
brother
,
like
her
,
searched
his
pockets
for
change
.
Stylish
kind
of
coat
with
that
roll
collar
,
warm
for
a
day
like
this
,
looks
like
blanketcloth
.
Careless
stand
of
her
with
her
hands
in
those
patch
pockets
.
Like
that
haughty
creature
at
the
polo
match
.
Women
all
for
caste
till
you
touch
the
spot
.
Handsome
is
and
handsome
does
.
Reserved
about
to
yield
.
The
honourable
Mrs
and
Brutus
is
an
honourable
man
.
Possess
her
once
take
the
starch
out
of
her
.
