Дублінці

A Little Cloud

           Hepickedhiswaydeftlythroughallthatminutevermin-likelifeandundertheshadowofthegauntspectralmansionsinwhichtheoldnobilityofDublinhadroystered.Nomemoryofthepasttouchedhim,forhismindwasfullofapresentjoy.

           HehadneverbeeninCorless’sbutheknewthevalueofthename.Heknewthatpeoplewentthereafterthetheatretoeatoystersanddrinkliqueurs;andhehadheardthatthewaiterstherespokeFrenchandGerman.Walkingswiftlybyatnighthehadseencabsdrawnupbeforethedoorandrichlydressedladies,escortedbycavaliers,alightandenterquickly.Theyworenoisydressesandmanywraps.Theirfaceswerepowderedandtheycaughtuptheirdresses,whentheytouchedearth,likealarmedAtalantas.Hehadalwayspassedwithoutturninghisheadtolook.Itwashishabittowalkswiftlyinthestreetevenbydayandwheneverhefoundhimselfinthecitylateatnighthehurriedonhiswayapprehensivelyandexcitedly.Sometimes,however,hecourtedthecausesofhisfear.Hechosethedarkestandnarroweststreetsand,ashewalkedboldlyforward,thesilencethatwasspreadabouthisfootstepstroubledhim,thewandering,silentfigurestroubledhim;andattimesasoundoflowfugitivelaughtermadehimtremblelikealeaf.

           HeturnedtotherighttowardsCapelStreet.IgnatiusGallaherontheLondonPress!Whowouldhavethoughtitpossibleeightyearsbefore?Still,nowthathereviewedthepast,LittleChandlercouldremembermanysignsoffuturegreatnessinhisfriend.

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Roboto Lora
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