Портрет художника в юности

Chapter 1

           Heputitonhisownplate,saying:

           Well,youcan’tsaybutyouwereasked.IthinkIhadbettereatitmyselfbecauseI’mnotwellinmyhealthlately.

           HewinkedatStephenand,replacingthedish-cover,begantoeatagain.

           Therewasasilencewhileheate.Thenhesaid:

           Wellnow,thedaykeptupfineafterall.Therewereplentyofstrangersdowntoo.

           Nobodyspoke.Hesaidagain:

           IthinkthereweremorestrangersdownthanlastChristmas.

           Helookedroundattheotherswhosefaceswerebenttowardstheirplatesand,receivingnoreply,waitedforamomentandsaidbitterly:

           Well,myChristmasdinnerhasbeenspoiledanyhow.

           Therecouldbeneitherlucknorgrace,Dantesaid,inahousewherethereisnorespectforthepastorsofthechurch.

           MrDedalusthrewhisknifeandforknoisilyonhisplate.

           Respect!hesaid.IsitforBillywiththeliporforthetubofgutsupinArmagh?Respect!

           Princesofthechurch,saidMrCaseywithslowscorn.

           LordLeitrim’scoachman,yes,saidMrDedalus.

           TheyaretheLord’sanointed,Dantesaid.Theyareanhonourtotheircountry.

           Tubofguts,saidMrDedaluscoarsely.Hehasahandsomeface,mindyou,inrepose.Youshouldseethatfellowlappinguphisbaconandcabbageofacoldwinter’sday.

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