Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 2
Theystreamedupwardsbeforehisanguishedeyesindenseandmaddeningfumesandpassedawayabovehimtillatlasttheairwasclearandcoldagain.
Afilmstillveiledhiseyesbuttheyburnednolonger.Apower,akintothatwhichhadoftenmadeangerorresentmentfallfromhim,broughthisstepstorest.Hestoodstillandgazedupatthesombreporchofthemorgueandfromthattothedarkcobbledlanewayatitsside.HesawthewordLOTTSonthewallofthelaneandbreathedslowlytherankheavyair.
Thatishorsepissandrottedstraw,hethought.Itisagoododourtobreathe.Itwillcalmmyheart.Myheartisquitecalmnow.Iwillgoback.
***
StephenwasonceagainseatedbesidehisfatherinthecornerofarailwaycarriageatKingsbridge.HewastravellingwithhisfatherbythenightmailtoCork.AsthetrainsteamedoutofthestationherecalledhischildishwonderofyearsbeforeandeveryeventofhisfirstdayatClongowes.Buthefeltnowondernow.Hesawthedarkeninglandsslippingawaypasthim,thesilenttelegraph-polespassinghiswindowswiftlyeveryfourseconds,thelittleglimmeringstations,mannedbyafewsilentsentries,flungbythemailbehindherandtwinklingforamomentinthedarknesslikefierygrainsflungbackwardsbyarunner.
