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A definitive edition of perhaps the greatest short story collection in the English language
James Joyce’s Dubliners is a vivid and unflinching portrait of “dear dirty Dublin” at the turn of the twentieth century. These fifteen stories, including such unforgettable ones as “Araby,” “Grace,” and “The Dead,” delve into the heart of the city of Joyce’s birth, capturing the cadences of Dubliners’ speech and portraying with an almost brute realism their outer and inner lives. Dubliners is Joyce at his most accessible and most profound, and this edition is the definitive text, authorized by the Joyce estate and collated from all known proofs, manuscripts, and impressions to reflect the author’s original wishes.
For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.
them; but she would have felt herself in the way (though Joe’s wife was ever so nice with her) and she had become accustomed to the life of the laundry. Joe was a good fellow. She had nursed him and Alphy too; and Joe used often say: —Mamma is mamma but Maria is my proper mother. After the break-up at home the boys had got her that position in the Dublin by Lamplight laundry, and she liked it. She used to have such a bad opinion of Protestants but now she thought they were very nice people, a
put out the fire which uttered a hissing protest. —To tell you my private and candid opinion, he said, I think he’s a man from the other camp. He’s a spy of Colgan’s if you ask me. Just go round and try and find out how they’re getting on. They won’t suspect you. Do you twig? —Ah, poor Joe is a decent skin, said Mr O’Connor. —His father was a decent respectable man, Mr Henchy admitted: Poor old Larry Hynes! Many a good turn he did in his day! But I’m greatly afraid our friend is not nineteen
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to remain vague. He wished his friends to think there had been some mistake, that Mr Harford and he had missed each other. His friends, who knew quite well Mr Harford’s manners in drinking, were silent. Mr Power said again: —All’s well that ends well. Mr Kernan changed the subject at once. —That was a decent young chap, that medical fellow, he said. Only for him— —O, only for him, said Mr Power, it might have been a case of seven days without the option of a fine. —Yes, yes, said Mr Kernan,
expressing grief: O, the rain falls on my heavy locks And the dew wets my skin, My babe lies cold ... —O, exclaimed Mary Jane. It’s Bartell D’Arcy singing and he wouldn’t sing all the night. 0, I’ll get him to sing a song before he goes. —0 do, Mary Jane, said Aunt Kate. Mary Jane brushed past the others and ran to the staircase but before she reached it the singing stopped and the piano was closed abruptly. —O, what a pity! she cried. Is he coming down, Gretta? Gabriel heard his wife