1 You'll get your walking papers in the morning when the doctor comes.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 2 It was a raw spring morning and his eyes were still smarting and weak.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 3 Getting up on the cars in the early wintry morning outside the door of the castle.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 4 But the faint smell of the rector's breath had made him feel a sick feeling on the morning of his first communion.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 5 Two great yellow caravans had halted one morning before the door and men had come tramping into the house to dismantle it.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 6 They drove in a jingle across Cork while it was still early morning and Stephen finished his sleep in a bedroom of the Victoria Hotel.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 7 Uncle Charles smoked such black twist that at last his nephew suggested to him to enjoy his morning smoke in a little outhouse at the end of the garden.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 8 It was unfair and cruel because the doctor had told him not to read without glasses and he had written home to his father that morning to send him a new pair.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 9 Every morning, therefore, uncle Charles repaired to his outhouse but not before he had greased and brushed scrupulously his back hair and brushed and put on his tall hat.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 10 The deep low collar and the Eton jacket made him feel queer and oldish: and that morning when his mother had brought him down to the parlour, dressed for mass, his father had cried.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 11 When the morning practice was over the trainer would make his comments and sometimes illustrate them by shuffling along for a yard or so comically in an old pair of blue canvas shoes.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 12 He saw himself sitting at his table in Bray the morning after the discussion at the Christmas dinner table, trying to write a poem about Parnell on the back of one of his father's second moiety notices.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 13 He wondered how his father, whom he knew for a shrewd suspicious man, could be duped by the servile manners of the porter; and the lively southern speech which had entertained him all the morning now irritated his ears.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 14 They had set out early in the morning from Newcombe's coffee-house, where Mr Dedalus's cup had rattled noisily against its saucer, and Stephen had tried to cover that shameful sign of his father's drinking bout of the night before by moving his chair and coughing.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 15 Many's the time we went down there when our names had been marked, a crowd of us, Harry Peard and little Jack Mountain and Bob Dyas and Maurice Moriarty, the Frenchman, and Tom O'Grady and Mick Lacy that I told you of this morning and Joey Corbet and poor little good-hearted Johnny Keevers of the Tantiles.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 16 His arbour, as he called the reeking outhouse which he shared with the cat and the garden tools, served him also as a sounding-box: and every morning he hummed contentedly one of his favourite songs: O, TWINE ME A BOWER or BLUE EYES AND GOLDEN HAIR or THE GROVES OF BLARNEY while the grey and blue coils of smoke rose slowly from his pipe and vanished in the pure air.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 17 His prayer, addressed neither to God nor saint, began with a shiver, as the chilly morning breeze crept through the chink of the carriage door to his feet, and ended in a trail of foolish words which he made to fit the insistent rhythm of the train; and silently, at intervals of four seconds, the telegraph-poles held the galloping notes of the music between punctual bars.
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