Дублінці
The Dead
D’Arcy,”criedMaryJane,“it’sdownrightmeanofyoutobreakofflikethatwhenwewereallinraptureslisteningtoyou.”
“Ihavebeenathimalltheevening,”saidMissO’Callaghan,“andMrs.Conroy,too,andhetoldushehadadreadfulcoldandcouldn’tsing.”
“O,Mr.D’Arcy,”saidAuntKate,“nowthatwasagreatfibtotell.”
“Can’tyouseethatI’mashoarseasacrow?”saidMr.D’Arcyroughly.
Hewentintothepantryhastilyandputonhisovercoat.Theothers,takenabackbyhisrudespeech,couldfindnothingtosay.AuntKatewrinkledherbrowsandmadesignstotheotherstodropthesubject.Mr.D’Arcystoodswathinghisneckcarefullyandfrowning.
“It’stheweather,”saidAuntJulia,afterapause.
“Yes,everybodyhascolds,”saidAuntKatereadily,“everybody.”
“Theysay,”saidMaryJane,“wehaven’thadsnowlikeitforthirtyyears;andIreadthismorninginthenewspapersthatthesnowisgeneralalloverIreland.”
“Ilovethelookofsnow,”saidAuntJuliasadly.
“SodoI,”saidMissO’Callaghan.“IthinkChristmasisneverreallyChristmasunlesswehavethesnowontheground.”
“ButpoorMr.D’Arcydoesn’tlikethesnow,”saidAuntKate,smiling.
Mr.
