Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 2
Shewassittingthereamongtheothersperhapswaitingforhimtoappear.Hetriedtorecallherappearancebutcouldnot.Hecouldrememberonlythatshehadwornashawlaboutherheadlikeacowlandthatherdarkeyeshadinvitedandunnervedhim.Hewonderedhadhebeeninherthoughtsasshehadbeeninhis.Theninthedarkandunseenbytheothertwoherestedthetipsofthefingersofonehanduponthepalmoftheotherhand,scarcelytouchingitlightly.Butthepressureofherfingershadbeenlighterandsteadier:andsuddenlythememoryoftheirtouchtraversedhisbrainandbodylikeaninvisiblewave.
Aboycametowardsthem,runningalongundertheshed.Hewasexcitedandbreathless.
—O,Dedalus,hecried,Doyleisinagreatbakeaboutyou.You’retogoinatonceandgetdressedfortheplay.Hurryup,youbetter.
—He’scomingnow,saidHerontothemessengerwithahaughtydrawl,whenhewantsto.
TheboyturnedtoHeronandrepeated:
—ButDoyleisinanawfulbake.
—WillyoutellDoylewithmybestcomplimentsthatIdamnedhiseyes?answeredHeron.
—Well,Imustgonow,saidStephen,whocaredlittleforsuchpointsofhonour.
—Iwouldn’t,saidHeron,damnmeifIwould.That’snowaytosendforoneoftheseniorboys.Inabake,indeed!Ithinkit’squiteenoughthatyou’retakingapartinhisballyoldplay.
