Дублінці
The Dead
Brownewasadvancingfromthedoor,gallantlyescortingAuntJulia,wholeaneduponhisarm,smilingandhangingherhead.Anirregularmusketryofapplauseescortedheralsoasfarasthepianoandthen,asMaryJaneseatedherselfonthestool,andAuntJulia,nolongersmiling,halfturnedsoastopitchhervoicefairlyintotheroom,graduallyceased.Gabrielrecognisedtheprelude.ItwasthatofanoldsongofAuntJulia’s—ArrayedfortheBridal.Hervoice,strongandclearintone,attackedwithgreatspirittherunswhichembellishtheairandthoughshesangveryrapidlyshedidnotmisseventhesmallestofthegracenotes.Tofollowthevoice,withoutlookingatthesinger’sface,wastofeelandsharetheexcitementofswiftandsecureflight.Gabrielapplaudedloudlywithalltheothersatthecloseofthesongandloudapplausewasborneinfromtheinvisiblesupper-table.ItsoundedsogenuinethatalittlecolourstruggledintoAuntJulia’sfaceasshebenttoreplaceinthemusic-standtheoldleather-boundsongbookthathadherinitialsonthecover.FreddyMalins,whohadlistenedwithhisheadperchedsidewaystohearherbetter,wasstillapplaudingwheneveryoneelsehadceasedandtalkinganimatedlytohismotherwhonoddedherheadgravelyandslowlyinacquiescence.Atlast,whenhecouldclapnomore,hestoodupsuddenlyandhurriedacrosstheroomtoAuntJuliawhosehandheseizedandheldinbothhishands,shakingitwhenwordsfailedhimorthecatchinhisvoiceprovedtoomuchforhim.
