Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 5
ThebirdcallfromSIGFRIEDwhistledsoftlyfollowedthemfromthestepsoftheporch.Cranlyturned,andDixon,whohadwhistled,calledout:
—Whereareyoufellowsoffto?Whataboutthatgame,Cranly?
TheyparleyedinshoutsacrossthestillairaboutagameofbilliardstobeplayedintheAdelphihotel.StephenwalkedonaloneandoutintothequietofKildareStreetoppositeMaple’shotelhestoodtowait,patientagain.Thenameofthehotel,acolourlesspolishedwood,anditscolourlessfrontstunghimlikeaglanceofpolitedisdain.Hestaredangrilybackatthesoftlylitdrawing-roomofthehotelinwhichheimaginedthesleeklivesofthepatriciansofIrelandhousedincalm.Theythoughtofarmycommissionsandlandagents:peasantsgreetedthemalongtheroadsinthecountry;theyknewthenamesofcertainFrenchdishesandgaveorderstojarviesinhigh-pitchedprovincialvoiceswhichpiercedthroughtheirskin-tightaccents.
Howcouldhehittheirconscienceorhowcasthisshadowovertheimaginationsoftheirdaughters,beforetheirsquiresbegatuponthem,thattheymightbreedaracelessignoblethantheirown?Andunderthedeepenedduskhefeltthethoughtsanddesiresoftheracetowhichhebelongedflittinglikebatsacrossthedarkcountrylanes,undertreesbytheedgesofstreamsandnearthepool-mottledbogs.
