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Or if Mangan's sister came out on the doorstep to call her brother in to his tea, we watched her from our shadow peer up and down the street. We waited to see whether she would remain or go in and, if she remained,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], we left our shadow and walked up to Mangan's steps resignedly. She was waiting for us, her figure defined by the light from the half-opened door. Her brother always teased her before he obeyed, and I stood by the railings looking at her. Her dress swung as she moved her body,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side.
Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped. I ran to the hall, seized my books and followed her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], when we came near the point at which our ways diverged, I quickened my pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning. I had never spoken to her,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile to romance. On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the flaring streets, jostled by drunken men and bargaining women,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], amid the curses of labourers,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the shrill litanies of shop-boys who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs' cheeks,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the nasal chanting of street-singers,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], who sang a come-all-you about O'Donovan Rossa,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], or a ballad about the troubles in our native land. These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], if I spoke to her,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.