Портрет художника в юности

Chapter 1

           

           Andwhicharetheytaking?askedthefellowwhohadspokenfirst.

           AllaretakingexpulsionexceptCorrigan,Athyanswered.He’sgoingtobefloggedbyMrGleeson.

           Iknowwhy,CecilThundersaid.Heisrightandtheotherfellowsarewrongbecauseafloggingwearsoffafterabitbutafellowthathasbeenexpelledfromcollegeisknownallhislifeonaccountofit.BesidesGleesonwon’tfloghimhard.

           It’sbestofhisplaynotto,Flemingsaid.

           Iwouldn’tliketobeSimonMoonanandTuskerCecilThundersaid.ButIdon’tbelievetheywillbeflogged.Perhapstheywillbesentupfortwicenine.

           No,no,saidAthy.They’llbothgetitonthevitalspot.Wellsrubbedhimselfandsaidinacryingvoice:

           Please,sir,letmeoff!

           Athygrinnedandturnedupthesleevesofhisjacket,saying:

           Itcan’tbehelped;

           Itmustbedone.

           Sodownwithyourbreeches

           Andoutwithyourbum.

           Thefellowslaughed;buthefeltthattheywerealittleafraid.Inthesilenceofthesoftgreyairheheardthecricketbatsfromhereandfromthere:pock.Thatwasasoundtohearbutifyouwerehitthenyouwouldfeelapain.Thepandybatmadeasoundtoobutnotlikethat.Thefellowssaiditwasmadeofwhaleboneandleatherwithleadinside:andhewonderedwhatwasthepainlike.

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