Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
StephenliftedhiseyesinwonderandsawforamomentFatherDolan’swhite-greynotyoungface,hisbaldywhite-greyheadwithfluffatthesidesofit,thesteelrimsofhisspectaclesandhisno-colouredeyeslookingthroughtheglasses.Whydidhesayheknewthattrick?
—Lazyidlelittleloafer!criedtheprefectofstudies.Brokemyglasses!Anoldschoolboytrick!Outwithyourhandthismoment!
Stephenclosedhiseyesandheldoutintheairhistremblinghandwiththepalmupwards.Hefelttheprefectofstudiestouchitforamomentatthefingerstostraightenitandthentheswishofthesleeveofthesoutaneasthepandybatwasliftedtostrike.Ahotburningstingingtinglingblowliketheloudcrackofabrokenstickmadehistremblinghandcrumpletogetherlikealeafinthefire:andatthesoundandthepainscaldingtearsweredrivenintohiseyes.Hiswholebodywasshakingwithfright,hisarmwasshakingandhiscrumpledburninglividhandshooklikealooseleafintheair.Acrysprangtohislips,aprayertobeletoff.Butthoughthetearsscaldedhiseyesandhislimbsquiveredwithpainandfrightheheldbackthehottearsandthecrythatscaldedhisthroat.
—Otherhand!shoutedtheprefectofstudies.
Stephendrewbackhismaimedandquiveringrightarmandheldouthislefthand.
