1 No sound of footsteps came up or down the road.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 2 The pandybat made a sound too but not like that.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 3 That was a sound to hear but if you were hit then you would feel a pain.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 4 The pandybat came down on it with a loud smacking sound: one, two, three, four, five, six.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 5 A long thin cane would have a high whistling sound and he wondered what was that pain like.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 6 And when it had all gone down slowly the hole in the basin had made a sound like that: suck.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 7 A feeble creature like a monkey was there, drawn thither by the sound of voices at the fire.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 8 From another window open to the air came the sound of a piano, scale after scale rising into the treble.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 9 No sound broke the peace of the night save when the lank brown horses rubbed their noses together and shook their bells.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 10 He wandered up and down the dark slimy streets peering into the gloom of lanes and doorways, listening eagerly for any sound.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 11 His unrest issued from him like a wave of sound: and on the tide of flowing music the ark was journeying, trailing her cables of lanterns in her wake.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 12 The frail gay sound smote his heart more strongly than a trumpet blast, and, not daring to lift his eyes, he turned aside and gazed, as he walked, into the shadow of the tangled shrubs.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 3 13 They pressed upon his brain as upon his lips as though they were the vehicle of a vague speech; and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odour.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 2 14 A hot burning stinging tingling blow like the loud crack of a broken stick made his trembling hand crumple together like a leaf in the fire: and at the sound and the pain scalding tears were driven into his eyes.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 15 The soutane sleeve swished again as the pandybat was lifted and a loud crashing sound and a fierce maddening tingling burning pain made his hand shrink together with the palms and fingers in a livid quivering mass.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 16 In the soft grey silence he could hear the bump of the balls: and from here and from there through the quiet air the sound of the cricket bats: pick, pack, pock, puck: like drops of water in a fountain falling softly in the brimming bowl.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man By James JoyceContextHighlight In Chapter 1 17 And though he trembled with cold and fright to think of the cruel long nails and of the high whistling sound of the cane and of the chill you felt at the end of your shirt when you undressed yourself yet he felt a feeling of queer quiet pleasure inside him to think of the white fattish hands, clean and strong and gentle.
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