Дублинцы
A Painful Case
Hebegantofeelillatease.Heaskedhimselfwhatelsecouldhehavedone.Hecouldnothavecarriedonacomedyofdeceptionwithher;hecouldnothavelivedwithheropenly.Hehaddonewhatseemedtohimbest.Howwashetoblame?Nowthatshewasgoneheunderstoodhowlonelyherlifemusthavebeen,sittingnightafternightaloneinthatroom.Hislifewouldbelonelytoountilhe,too,died,ceasedtoexist,becameamemory—ifanyonerememberedhim.
Itwasafternineo’clockwhenhelefttheshop.Thenightwascoldandgloomy.HeenteredtheParkbythefirstgateandwalkedalongunderthegaunttrees.Hewalkedthroughthebleakalleyswheretheyhadwalkedfouryearsbefore.Sheseemedtobenearhiminthedarkness.Atmomentsheseemedtofeelhervoicetouchhisear,herhandtouchhis.Hestoodstilltolisten.Whyhadhewithheldlifefromher?Whyhadhesentencedhertodeath?Hefelthismoralnaturefallingtopieces.
WhenhegainedthecrestoftheMagazineHillhehaltedandlookedalongtherivertowardsDublin,thelightsofwhichburnedredlyandhospitablyinthecoldnight.Helookeddowntheslopeand,atthebase,intheshadowofthewallofthePark,hesawsomehumanfigureslying.Thosevenalandfurtivelovesfilledhimwithdespair.Hegnawedtherectitudeofhislife;hefeltthathehadbeenoutcastfromlife’sfeast.Onehumanbeinghadseemedtolovehimandhehaddeniedherlifeandhappiness:hehadsentencedhertoignominy,adeathofshame
