James Joyce

A Painful Case

    aalaamutazhar citeretsidste år
    Little by little he entangled his thoughts with hers.
    b9620381011har citeretfor 7 år siden
    Miss Mary Sinico said that of late her mother had been in the habit of
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    going out at night to buy spirits
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    He stood still to listen. Why had he withheld life from her? Why had he sentenced her to death? He felt his moral nature falling to pieces.
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    One human being had seemed to love him and he had denied her life and happiness: he had sentenced her to ignominy, a death Of shame
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    Not merely had she degraded herself; she had degraded him. He saw the squalid tract of her vice, miserable and malodorous. His soul's companion! He thought of the hobbling wretches whom he had seen carrying cans and bottles to be filled by the barman. Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilization has been reared.
    b9620381011har citeretfor 7 år siden
    Now that she was gone he understood how lonely her life must have been, sitting night after night, alone in that room. His life would be lonely too until he, too, died, ceased to exist, became a memory — if anyone remembered him.
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    He had no difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.
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    The whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted him to think that he had ever spoken to her of what he held sacred.
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    They had been married for twenty-two years and had lived happily until about two years ago, when his wife began to be rather intemperate in her habits.
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    Death, in his opinion, had been probably due to shock and sudden failure of the heart's action
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    Love between man and woman is impossible because there must not be sexual intercourse, and friendship between man and woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse.
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    He thought that in her eyes he would ascend to an angelical stature
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    He told her that for some time he had assisted at the meetings of an Irish Socialist Party, where he had felt himself a unique figure amidst a score of sober workmen in a garret lit by an inefficient oil-lamp. When the party had divided into three sections, each under its own leader and in its own garret, he had discontinued his attendances. The workmen's discussions, he said, were too timorous; the interest they took in the question of wages was inordinate. He felt that they were hard-featured realists and that they resented an exactitude which was the produce of a leisure not within their reach. No social revolution, he told her, would be likely to strike Dublin for some centuries.
    b9620381011har citeretfor 7 år siden
    Mr Duffy, however, had a distaste for underhand ways and, finding that they were compelled to meet stealthily, he forced her to ask him to her house.
    b9620381011har citeretfor 7 år siden
    He lived his spiritual life without any communion with others, visiting his relatives at Christmas and escorting them to the cemetery when they died.
    Evgeny Parastaevhar citeretfor 8 år siden
    James Joyce A Painful Case * Mr James Duffy lived in Chapelizod because he wished to live as far as possible from the city of which he was a citizen and because he found all the other suburbs of Dublin mean, modern, and pretentious. He lived in an old sombre house, and from his windows he could look into the disused distillery or upwards along the shallow river on which Dublin is built. The lofty walls of his uncarpeted room were free from pictures. He had himself bought every article of furniture in the room: a black iron bedstead, an iron wash-stand, four cane chairs, a clothes-rack, a coal-scuttle, a fender and irons, and a square table on which lay a double desk. A bookcase had been made in an alcove by means of shelves of white wood. The bed was clothed with white bedclothes and a black and scarlet rug covered the foot. A little hand-mirror hung above the wash-stand and during the day a white-shaded lamp stood as the sole ornament of the mantelpiece. The books on the white wooden shelves were arranged from below upwards according to bulk. A complete Wordsworth stood at one end of the lowest shelf and a copy of the Maynooth Catechism , sewn into the cloth cover of a notebook, stood at one end of the top shelf. Writing materials were always on the desk. In the desk lay a manuscript translation of Hauptmann's Michael Kramer , the stage directions of which were written in purple ink, and a little sheaf of papers held together by a brass pin. In these sheets a sentence was inscribed from time to time and, in an ironical moment, the headline of an advertisement for Bile Beans had been pasted on to the first sheet. On lifting the lid of the desk a faint fragrance escaped — the
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