Quotation from: Dubliners

Written by: James Joyce


Corley's stride acknowledged the compliment. The swing of his
burly body made his friend execute a few light skips from the path
to the roadway and back again. Corley was the son of an inspector
of police and he had inherited his father's frame and gut. He
walked with his hands by his sides, holding himself erect and
swaying his head from side to side. His head was large, globular
and oily; it sweated in all weathers; and his large round hat, set
upon it sideways, looked like a bulb which had grown out of
another. He always stared straight before him as if he were on
parade and, when he wished to gaze after someone in the street, it
was necessary for him to move his body from the hips. At present
he was about town. Whenever any job was vacant a friend was
always ready to give him the hard word. He was often to be seen
walking with policemen in plain clothes, talking earnestly. He
knew the inner side of all affairs and was fond of delivering final
judgments. He spoke without listening to the speech of his
companions. His conversation was mainly about himself what he
had said to such a person and what such a person had said to him
and what he had said to settle the matter. When he reported these
dialogues he aspirated the first letter of his name after the manner
of Florentines.

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