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Her most appealing quality is the simple, unaffected charm of a
                            shy covent-girl youthfulness she has never lost – an innate unworldly
                            innocence.

                                                           ***

                            Text  3
                                                   JAMES  TYRONE

                                                           (From “Long Day’s Journey into Night”
                                                                                           1
                                                                            by Eugene O’Neil  )

                                  James Tyrone is sixty-five but looks ten years younger. About
                            five feet height, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, he seems taller
                            and slenderer because of his bearing, which has a soldierly quality of
                            head up, chest out, stomach in, shoulders squared. His face has begun
                            to break down but he is still remarkably good looking – a big, finely
                            shaped head, a handsome profile, deep-set light-brown eyes. His gray
                            hair is thin with a bald spot like a monk’s tonsure.
                                  The stamp of his profession is unmistakably on him. Not that
                            he indulges in any of the deliberate temperamental posturings of the
                            stage  star.  He  is  by  nature  and  preference  a  simple,  unpretentious
                            man, whose inclinations are still close to his humble beginnings and
                            his Irish farmer forebears. But the actor shows in all his unconscious
                            habits  of  speech,  movement  and  gesture.  They  have  the  quality  of
                            belonging  to  a  studied  technique.  His  voice  is  remarkably  fine,
                            resonant and flexible, and he takes great pride in it.
                                  His clothes, assuredly, do  not costume any romantic part. He
                            wears a threadbare, ready-made, grey sack suit and shineless black
                            shoes,  a  collarless  shirt  with  a  thick  white  handkerchief  knotted
                            loosely  around  his  throat.  There  is  nothing  picturesquely  careless
                            about his getup. It is commonplace shabby. He believes in wearing
                            his clothes to the limit of usefulness, is dressed now for gardening,
                            and doesn’t give a damn how how looks. He has never been really
                            sick a day in his life. He has no nerves. There is a lot of solid, eathly



                            1
                              Текст друкується за виданням  O’Neil. Long Day’s Journey into Night. //
                            Three American Plays. – Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1972. – С. 15.

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