Her voice, frail
and high as a boy's, was heard intoning from a distant choir the first
words of a woman which pierce the gloom and clamour of the first
chanting of the passion:
--ET TU CUM JESU GALILAEO ERAS.
And all hearts were touched and turned to her voice, shining like a
young star, shining clearer as the voice intoned the proparoxytone and
more faintly as the cadence died.
The singing ceased. They went on together, Cranly repeating in strongly
stressed rhythm the end of the refrain:
And when we are married,
O, how happy we'll be
For I love sweet Rosie O'Grady
And Rosie O'Grady loves me.
--There's real poetry for you, he said. There's real love.
He glanced sideways at Stephen with a strange smile and said:
--Do you consider that poetry? Or do you know what the words mean?
--I want to see Rosie first, said Stephen.
--She's easy to find, Cranly said.
His hat had come down on his forehead. He shoved it back and in the
shadow of the trees Stephen saw his pale face, framed by the dark, and
his large dark eyes. Yes. His face was handsome and his body was strong
and hard. He had spoken of a mother's love. He felt then the sufferings
of women, the weaknesses of their bodies and souls; and would shield
them with a strong and resolute arm and bow his mind to them.
Pages:
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361