Дублінці
A Little Cloud
”
“O,comeon,anotheronewon’tdoyouanyharm.Whatisit?Thesameagain,Isuppose?”
“Well...allright.”
“Francois,thesameagain....Willyousmoke,Tommy?”
IgnatiusGallaherproducedhiscigar-case.Thetwofriendslittheircigarsandpuffedattheminsilenceuntiltheirdrinkswereserved.
“I’lltellyoumyopinion,”saidIgnatiusGallaher,emergingaftersometimefromthecloudsofsmokeinwhichhehadtakenrefuge,“it’sarumworld.Talkofimmorality!I’veheardofcases—whatamIsaying?—I’veknownthem:casesof...immorality....”
IgnatiusGallaherpuffedthoughtfullyathiscigarandthen,inacalmhistorian’stone,heproceededtosketchforhisfriendsomepicturesofthecorruptionwhichwasrifeabroad.HesummarisedthevicesofmanycapitalsandseemedinclinedtoawardthepalmtoBerlin.Somethingshecouldnotvouchfor(hisfriendshadtoldhim),butofothershehadhadpersonalexperience.Hesparedneitherranknorcaste.HerevealedmanyofthesecretsofreligioushousesontheContinentanddescribedsomeofthepracticeswhichwerefashionableinhighsocietyandendedbytelling,withdetails,astoryaboutanEnglishduchess—astorywhichheknewtobetrue.LittleChandlerasastonished.
“Ah,well,”saidIgnatiusGallaher,“hereweareinoldjog-alongDublinwherenothingisknownofsuchthings.
