Mark André ’s Reviews > A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man > Status Update
Mark André
is on page 18 of 253
There was a cold night smell in the chapel. But it was a holy smell. It was not like the smell of the old peasants who knelt at the back of the chapel at Sunday mass. That was a smell of air and rain and Turk and corduroy. But they were very holy peasants. They breathed on the back of his neck and sighed as they prayed.
— 7 hours, 9 min ago
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Mark André
is on page 39 of 253
—Devil out of hell! We won! We crushed him to death! Fiend!
The door slammed behind her.
Mr. Casey, freeing his arms from his holders, suddenly bowed his head on his hands with a sob of pain.
—Poor Parnell! he cried loudly. My dead king!
He sobbed loudly and bitterly.
Stephen, raising his terrorstricken face, saw his father’s eyes were full of tears.
— 4 hours, 0 min ago
The door slammed behind her.
Mr. Casey, freeing his arms from his holders, suddenly bowed his head on his hands with a sob of pain.
—Poor Parnell! he cried loudly. My dead king!
He sobbed loudly and bitterly.
Stephen, raising his terrorstricken face, saw his father’s eyes were full of tears.
Mark André
is on page 16 of 253
What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything around the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?
— 8 hours, 9 min ago
Mark André
is on page 10 of 253
Soon they would be going home for the holidays. After supper in the studyhall he would change the number pasted up inside his desk from seventyseven to seventysix.
— 9 hours, 23 min ago
I was struck by the word corduroy. I have no knowledge that corduroy has a smell particulate to itself. It left me wondering. Ps. There was no word Turk. It was supposed to be turf.