The Dead
“The Dead” is the final short story in the 1914 collection Dubliners by James Joyce. It is the longest story in the collection. The action takes place in Dublin in 1904 at an Epiphany party held by two elderly sisters. The story focuses attention on the academic Gabriel Conroy and his discovery of his wife Gretta's memory of a deceased lover.
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Юлияshared an impression5 months ago
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Удивительное достижение - так много вложить в такое короткое произведение. Заставляет задуматься про отношения, жизнь в целом и то, что на самом деле происходит в умах и сердцах наших самых близких людей, и о чём мы зачастую даже не догадываемся.

b8jobshared an impressionlast year

very much appreciated access to the text

avikang1995shared an impressionlast year

Great book

Mofi Paradisyana Hello
Mofi Paradisyana Hellohas quoted5 months ago
Perhaps she had not told him all the story. His eyes moved to the chair over which she had thrown some of her clothes. A petticoat string dangled to the floor. One boot stood upright, its limp upper fallen down: the fellow of it lay upon its side. He wondered at his riot of emotions of an hour before. From what had it proceeded? From his aunt's supper, from his own foolish speech, from the wine and dancing, the merry-making when saying good night in the hall, the pleasure of the walk along the river in the snow. Poor Aunt Julia! She, too, would soon be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was singing `Arrayed for the Bridal'. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees. The blinds would be drawn down and Aunt Kate would be sitting beside him, crying and blowing her nose and telling him how Julia had died. He would cast about in his mind for some words that might console her, and would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes: that would happen very soon.

The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one, they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover's eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.

Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and
Юлияhas quoted5 months ago
`But yet,' continued Gabriel, his voice falling into a softer inflection, `there are always in gatherings such as this sadder thoughts that will recur to our minds: thoughts of the past, of youth, of changes, of absent faces that we miss here tonight. Our path through life is strewn with many such sad memories: and were we to brood upon them always we could not find the heart to go on bravely with our work among the living. We have all of us living duties and living affections which claim, and rightly claim, our strenuous endeavours.
`Therefore, I will not linger on the past. I will not let any gloomy moralizing intrude upon us here tonight. Here we are gathered together for a brief moment from the bustle and rush of our everyday routine.
aarynmarezhas quoted8 months ago
`Let us toast them all three together. Let us drink to their health, wealth, long life, happiness, and prosperity and may they long continue to hold the proud and self-won position which they hold in their profession and the position of honour and affection which they hold in our hea
Станислав Зимин
Станислав Зиминhas quoted9 months ago
Close the door, somebody. Mrs Malins will get her death of cold
Ветер в голове
Ветер в головеhas quoted9 months ago
run off her feet
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