1 It would rain for ever, noiselessly.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 2 That was a smell of air and rain and turf and corduroy.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 3 The old and weary voice fell like sweet rain upon his quaking parching heart.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 4 Forty days and forty nights the rain would fall till the waters covered the face of the earth.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 5 The park trees were heavy with rain; and rain fell still and ever in the lake, lying grey like a shield.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 6 Mr Tate and Vincent Heron stood at the window, talking, jesting, gazing out at the bleak rain, moving their heads.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 7 The lovely smell there was in the wintry air: the smell of Clane: rain and wintry air and turf smouldering and corduroy.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 8 A fine rain began to fall from the high veiled sky and they turned into the duke's lawn to reach the national library before the shower came.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 9 The rain had drawn off; and amid the moving vapours from point to point of light the city was spinning about herself a soft cocoon of yellowish haze.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 10 Stephen took his place silently on the step below the group of students, heedless of the rain which fell fast, turning his eyes towards her from time to time.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 11 But the trees in Stephen's Green were fragrant of rain and the rain-sodden earth gave forth its mortal odour, a faint incense rising upward through the mould from many hearts.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 5 12 It would be lovely to sleep for one night in that cottage before the fire of smoking turf, in the dark lit by the fire, in the warm dark, breathing the smell of the peasants, air and rain and turf and corduroy.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 13 It was an elfin prelude, endless and formless; and, as it grew wilder and faster, the flames leaping out of time, he seemed to hear from under the boughs and grasses wild creatures racing, their feet pattering like rain upon the leaves.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 4