一个青年艺术家的画像：英文版

　　There was a noise of curtain-rings running back along therods， of water being splashed in the basins. There was a noise ofrising and dressing and washing in the dormitory: a noise ofclapping of hands as the prefect went up and down telling thefellows to look sharp. A pale sunlight showed the yellow curtainsdrawn back， the tossed beds. His bed was very hot and his face andbody were very hot.
　　He got up and sat on the side of his bed. He was weak. He triedto pull on his stocking. It had a horrid rough feel. The sunlightwas queer and cold.
　　Fleming said:
　　-Are you not well?
　　He did not know; and Fleming said:
　　-Get back into bed. I’II tell McGlade you’re not well.
　　-He’s sick.
　　-Who is?
　　-Tell McGlade.
　　-Get back into bed.
　　-Is he sick?
　　A fellow held his arms while he loosened the stocking clinging tohis foot and climbed back into the hot bed.
　　He crouched down between the sheets， glad of their tepid glow. Heheard the fellows talk among themselves about him as they dressedfor mass. It was a mean thing to do， to shoulder him into thesquare ditch， they were saying.
　　Then their voices ceased; they had gone. A voice at his bed said:-Dedalus， don’t spy on us， sure you won’t?
　　Wells’s face was there. He looked at it and saw that Wells wasafraid.
　　-I didn’t mean to. Sure you won’t?
　　His father had told him， whatever he did， never to peach on afellow.
　　He shook his head and answered no and felt glad.
　　Wells said:I didn’t mean to， honour bright. It was only for cod.I’m sorry The face and the voice went away Sorry because he wasafraid. Afraid that it was some disease. Canker was a disease ofplants and cancer one of animals: or another different. That was along time ago then out on the playgrounds in the evening light，creeping from point to point on the fringe of his line， a heavybird flying low through the grey light. Leicester Abbeylit up.Wolsey died there. The abbots buried him themselves.
　　It was not Wells’s face， it was the prefect’s. He was not foxing.No， no: he was sick really He was not foxing. And he felt theprefect’s hand on his forehead; and he felt his forehead warm anddamp against the prefect’s cold damp hand. That was the way a ratfelt， slimy and damp and cold.
　　Every rat had two eyes to look out of. Sleek slimy coats， littlelittle feet tucked up to jump， black slimy eyes to look out of.They could understand how to jump. But the minds of rats could notunderstand trigonometry When they were dead they lay on theirsides. Their coats dried then. They were only dead things.
　　The prefect was there again and it was his voice that was sayingthat he was to get up， that Father Minister had said he was to getup and dress and go to the infirmary And while he was dressinghimself as quickly as he could the prefect said: -We must pack offto Brother Michael because we have the collywobbles!
　　He was very decent to say that. That was all to make him laugh.But he could not laugh because his cheeks and lips were allshivery: and then the prefect had to laugh by himself.
　　The prefect cried: uick march! Hayfoot! Strawfoot!
　　They went together down the staircase and along the corridor andpast the bath. As he passed the door he remembered with a vaguefear the warm turf-coloured bogwater， the warm moist air， the noiseof plunges， the smell of the towels， like medicine.
　　……