by upright | Aug 17, 2015 | Ulysses |
He dried the page with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook back to his bench. —You had better get your stick and go out to the others, Stephen said as he followed towards the door the boy’s graceless form. —Yes, sir. In the corridor his name...
by upright | Aug 14, 2015 | Ulysses |
Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a stain of ink, a snail’s bed. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart. But for her the race of the world would have trampled him underfoot, a squashed boneless snail. She had loved his weak...
by upright | Aug 10, 2015 | Ulysses |
A stick struck the door and a voice in the corridor called: —Hockey! They broke asunder, sidling out of their benches, leaping them. Quickly they were gone and from the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks and clamour of their boots and tongues. Sargent who alone had...
by upright | Aug 7, 2015 | Ulysses |
—Turn over, Stephen said quietly. I don’t see anything. —What, sir? Talbot asked simply, bending forward. His hand turned the page over. He leaned back and went on again, having just remembered. Of him that walked the waves. Here also over these craven hearts...
by upright | Aug 3, 2015 | Ulysses |
For Haines’s chapbook. No-one here to hear. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to pierce the polished mail of his mind. What then? A jester at the court of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement master’s praise. Why had they chosen...
by upright | Jul 31, 2015 | Ulysses |
—You, Armstrong, Stephen said. What was the end of Pyrrhus? —End of Pyrrhus, sir? —I know, sir. Ask me, sir, Comyn said. —Wait. You, Armstrong. Do you know anything about Pyrrhus? A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong’s satchel. He curled them between his...