Улисс
Chapter 10
Itwasthereshekepthergirlishtreasuretrove,thetortoiseshellcombs,herchildofMarybadge,thewhiterosescent,theeyebrowleine,heralabasterpouncetboxandtheribbonstochangewhenherthingscamehomefromthewashandthereweresomebeautifulthoughtswritteninitinvioletinkthatsheboughtinHely’sofDameStreetforshefeltthatshetoocouldwritepoetryifshecouldonlyexpressherselflikethatpoemthatappealedtohersodeeplythatshehadcopiedoutofthenewspapershefoundoneeveningroundthepotherbs.Artthoureal,myideal?itwascalledbyLouisJWalsh,Magherafelt,andaftertherewassomethingabouttwilight,wiltthouever?andofttimesthebeautyofpoetry,sosadinitstransientloveliness,hadmistedhereyeswithsilenttearsforshefeltthattheyearswereslippingbyforher,onebyone,andbutforthatoneshortcomingsheknewsheneedfearnocompetitionandthatwasanaccidentcomingdownDalkeyhillandshealwaystriedtoconcealit.Butitmustend,shefelt.Ifshesawthatmagiclureinhiseyestherewouldbenoholdingbackforher.Lovelaughsatlocksmiths.Shewouldmakethegreatsacrifice.Hereveryeffortwouldbetosharehisthoughts.Dearerthanthewholeworldwouldshebetohimandgildhisdayswithhappiness.Therewastheallimportantquestionandshewasdyingtoknowwasheamarriedmanorawidowerwhohadlosthiswifeorsometragedylikethenoblemanwiththeforeignnamefromthelandofsonghadtohaveherputintoamadhouse,cruelonlytobekind.
