United States or Eritrea ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Dixon folded the journal and rose with dignity, saying: Our men retired in good order. As they passed through a lane of the tables Stephen said: Cranly, I want to speak to you. Cranly did not answer or turn. He laid his book on the counter and passed out, his well-shod feet sounding flatly on the floor. On the staircase he paused and gazing absently at Dixon repeated: Pawn to king's bloody fourth.
Cranly asked softly, happier than you are now, for instance? Often happy, Stephen said, and often unhappy. I was someone else then. How someone else? What do you mean by that statement? I mean, said Stephen, that I was not myself as I am now, as I had to become. Not as you are now, not as you had to become, Cranly repeated. Let me ask you a question. Do you love your mother?
Stephen watched his face for some moments in silence. A cold sadness was there. He had spoken of himself, of his own loneliness which he feared. Of whom are you speaking? Stephen asked at length. Cranly did not answer. Long talk with Cranly on the subject of my revolt. He had his grand manner on. I supple and suave. Attacked me on the score of love for one's mother.
I am and I know I am. And I admit it that I am. Dixon patted him lightly on the shoulder and said mildly: And it does you every credit, Temple. But he, Temple said, pointing to Cranly, he is a ballocks, too, like me. Only he doesn't know it. And that's the only difference I see. A burst of laughter covered his words.
Cranly had taken another dried fig from the supply in his pocket and was eating it slowly and noisily. Temple sat on the pediment of a pillar, leaning back, his cap pulled down on his sleepy eyes. A squat young man came out of the porch, a leather portfolio tucked under his armpit.
Another head than his, right before him in the first benches, was poised squarely above its bending fellows like the head of a priest appealing without humility to the tabernacle for the humble worshippers about him. Why was it that when he thought of Cranly he could never raise before his mind the entire image of his body but only the image of the head and face?
A deep bass note in response came from the upper tier, followed by coughs of protest along the other benches. The professor paused in his reading and called the next name: Cranly! No answer. Mr Cranly! A smile flew across Stephen's face as he thought of his friend's studies. Try Leopardstown! Said a voice from the bench behind.
His step was angry and with an angry abrupt gesture he thrust the stick back into Stephen's hand. Stephen felt that his anger had another cause but, feigning patience, touched his arm slightly and said quietly: Cranly, I told you I wanted to speak to you. Come away. Cranly looked at him for a few moments and asked: Now? Yes, now, Stephen said. We can't speak here. Come away.
Good evening, gentlemen, said the stubble-grown monkeyish face. Warm weather for March, said Cranly. They have the windows open upstairs. Dixon smiled and turned his ring. The blackish, monkey-puckered face pursed its human mouth with gentle pleasure and its voice purred: Delightful weather for March. Simply delightful.
What have you there? he asked, tapping the portfolio under Glynn's arm. Examination papers, Glynn answered. I give them monthly examinations to see that they are profiting by my tuition. He also tapped the portfolio and coughed gently and smiled. Tuition! said Cranly rudely. I suppose you mean the barefooted children that are taught by a bloody ape like you. God help them!
Word Of The Day