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Lynch ! Hey ? Sign on long o ’ me . Denzille lane this way . Change here for Bawdyhouse . We two , she said , will seek the kips where shady Mary is . Righto , any old time . Laetabuntur in cubilibus suis . You coming long ? Whisper , who the sooty hell’s the johnny in the black duds ? Hush ! Sinned against the light and even now that day is at hand when he shall come to judge the world by fire . Pflaap ! Ut implerentur scripturae . Strike up a ballad . Then outspake medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy . Christicle , who’s this excrement yellow gospeller on the Merrion hall ? Elijah is coming ! Washed in the blood of the Lamb . Come on you winefizzling , ginsizzling , booseguzzling existences ! Come on , you dog - gone , bullnecked , beetlebrowed , hogjowled , peanutbrained , weaseleyed fourflushers , false alarms and excess baggage ! Come on , you triple extract of infamy ! Alexander J Christ Dowie , that’s my name , that’s yanked to glory most half this planet from Frisco beach to Vladivostok . The Deity aint no nickel dime bumshow . I put it to you that He’s on the square and a corking fine business proposition . He’s the grandest thing yet and don’t you forget it . Shout salvation in King Jesus . You’ll need to rise precious early , you sinner there , if you want to diddle the Almighty God . Pflaaaap ! Not half . He’s got a coughmixture with a punch in it for you , my friend , in his back pocket . Just you try it on . [ 15 ] ( The Mabbot street entrance of nighttown , before which stretches an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks , red and green will - o ’ - the - wisps and danger signals . Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors . Rare lamps with faint rainbow fans . Round Rabaiotti’s halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble . They grab wafers between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow . Sucking , they scatter slowly . Children . The swancomb of the gondola , highreared , forges on through the murk , white and blue under a lighthouse . Whistles call and answer . ) THE CALLS : Wait , my love , and I’ll be with you . THE ANSWERS : Round behind the stable . ( A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes , his shapeless mouth dribbling , jerks past , shaken in Saint Vitus ’ dance . A chain of children ’ s hands imprisons him . ) THE CHILDREN : Kithogue ! Salute ! THE IDIOT : ( Lifts a palsied left arm and gurgles . ) Grhahute ! THE CHILDREN : Where’s the great light ? THE IDIOT : ( Gobbling . ) Ghaghahest . ( They release him . He jerks on . A pigmy woman swings on a rope slung between two railings , counting . A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its arm and hat snores , groans , grinding growling teeth , and snores again . On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones . A crone standing by with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the maw of his sack . He heaves his booty , tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely . The crone makes back for her lair , swaying her lamp . A bandy child , asquat on the doorstep with a paper shuttlecock , crawls sidling after her in spurts , clutches her skirt , scrambles up . A drunken navvy grips with both hands the railings of an area , lurching heavily . At a corner two night watch in shouldercapes , their hands upon their staffholsters , loom tall . A plate crashes : a woman screams : a child wails . Oaths of a man roar , mutter , cease . Figures wander , lurk , peer from warrens . In a room lit by a candle stuck in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the hair of a scrofulous child . Cissy Caffrey’s voice , still young , sings shrill from a lane . )
Назад Сторінка 314 з 527 Сторінка 314 з 527 Вперед Читайте далі з перекладом Створіть безкоштовний акаунт: 7 днів Pro, далі 20 перекладів слів на день або платний тариф.
