face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.In one sentance you can see the light on the sandy-blonde hair; Joyce got it perfectly.
Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.I'm not sure I like using the word Gestalt, but that's it. He captured an entire huge complex elusive feeling in couple sentances.
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posted by stavrosthewonderchicken at 5:45 PM on June 24, 2004