Дублинцы
Eveline
Sherememberedthelastnightofhermother’sillness;shewasagainintheclosedarkroomattheothersideofthehallandoutsidesheheardamelancholyairofItaly.Theorgan-playerhadbeenorderedtogoawayandgivensixpence.Sherememberedherfatherstruttingbackintothesickroomsaying:
“DamnedItalians!comingoverhere!”
Asshemusedthepitifulvisionofhermother’slifelaiditsspellontheveryquickofherbeing—thatlifeofcommonplacesacrificesclosinginfinalcraziness.Shetrembledassheheardagainhermother’svoicesayingconstantlywithfoolishinsistence:
“DerevaunSeraun!DerevaunSeraun!”
Shestoodupinasuddenimpulseofterror.Escape!Shemustescape!Frankwouldsaveher.Hewouldgiveherlife,perhapslove,too.Butshewantedtolive.Whyshouldshebeunhappy?Shehadarighttohappiness.Frankwouldtakeherinhisarms,foldherinhisarms.Hewouldsaveher.
ShestoodamongtheswayingcrowdinthestationattheNorthWall.Heheldherhandandsheknewthathewasspeakingtoher,sayingsomethingaboutthepassageoverandoveragain.Thestationwasfullofsoldierswithbrownbaggages.Throughthewidedoorsoftheshedsshecaughtaglimpseoftheblackmassoftheboat,lyinginbesidethequaywall,withilluminedportholes.Sheanswerednothing.Shefelthercheekpaleandcoldand,outofamazeofdistress,sheprayedtoGodtodirecther,toshowherwhatwasherduty
