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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 81/821
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He
took
a
page
up
from
the
pile
of
cut
sheets
:
the
model
farm
at
Kinnereth
on
the
lakeshore
of
Tiberias
.
Can
become
ideal
winter
sanatorium
.
Moses
Montefiore
.
I
thought
he
was
.
Farmhouse
,
wall
round
it
,
blurred
cattle
cropping
.
He
held
the
page
from
him
:
interesting
:
read
it
nearer
,
the
title
,
the
blurred
cropping
cattle
,
the
page
rustling
.
A
young
white
heifer
.
Those
mornings
in
the
cattlemarket
,
the
beasts
lowing
in
their
pens
,
branded
sheep
,
flop
and
fall
of
dung
,
the
breeders
in
hobnailed
boots
trudging
through
the
litter
,
slapping
a
palm
on
a
ripemeated
hindquarter
,
there
’
s
a
prime
one
,
unpeeled
switches
in
their
hands
.
He
held
the
page
aslant
patiently
,
bending
his
senses
and
his
will
,
his
soft
subject
gaze
at
rest
.
The
crooked
skirt
swinging
,
whack
by
whack
by
whack
.
The
porkbutcher
snapped
two
sheets
from
the
pile
,
wrapped
up
her
prime
sausages
and
made
a
red
grimace
.
—
Now
,
my
miss
,
he
said
.
She
tendered
a
coin
,
smiling
boldly
,
holding
her
thick
wrist
out
.
—
Thank
you
,
my
miss
.
And
one
shilling
threepence
change
.
For
you
,
please
?
Mr
Bloom
pointed
quickly
.
To
catch
up
and
walk
behind
her
if
she
went
slowly
,
behind
her
moving
hams
.
Pleasant
to
see
first
thing
in
the
morning
.
Hurry
up
,
damn
it
.
Make
hay
while
the
sun
shines
.
She
stood
outside
the
shop
in
sunlight
and
sauntered
lazily
to
the
right
.
He
sighed
down
his
nose
:
they
never
understand
.
Sodachapped
hands
.
Crusted
toenails
too
.
Brown
scapulars
in
tatters
,
defending
her
both
ways
.
The
sting
of
disregard
glowed
to
weak
pleasure
within
his
breast
.
For
another
:
a
constable
off
duty
cuddling
her
in
Eccles
’
Lane
.
They
like
them
sizeable
.
Prime
sausage
.
O
please
,
Mr
Policeman
,
I
’
m
lost
in
the
wood
.
—
Threepence
,
please
.
His
hand
accepted
the
moist
tender
gland
and
slid
it
into
a
sidepocket
.
Then
it
fetched
up
three
coins
from
his
trousers
’
pocket
and
laid
them
on
the
rubber
prickles
.
They
lay
,
were
read
quickly
and
quickly
slid
,
disc
by
disc
,
into
the
till
.
—
Thank
you
,
sir
.
Another
time
.
