from "Dubliners"
by James Joyce
from the story Araby
      "Her image accompanied me
even in places the most hostile to romance. On Saturday evenings when
my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked
through the flaring streets, jostled by drunken men and bargaining women,
amid the curses of labourers, the shrill litanies of shop-boys who stood
on gaurd by the barrels of pigs' cheeks, the nasal chanting of street-singers,
who sang a come-all-you about O'Donovan Rossa, or a ballad about the
troubles in our native land. These noises converged in a single sensation
of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng
of foes. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and
praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of
tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed
to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did
not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her,
how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a
harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires."
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