I uprooted Dubliners and it's... astonishingly consonant.

As a tiny jest, I concocted a somewhat surrealist jumble of Dubliners. Taking the first sentence of The Sisters, I followed it with the second sentence of An Encounter, followed by the third of Araby..; and so on and so forth in said sequence, all the way till the fifteenth sentence of The Dead. However, I confess to a slight, liberal gratuitousness: I did not employ the original fourteenth sentence of Grace because it was spoken dialogue. Instead, I referred to the fourteenth prose sentence of that story.

The combination actually makes a good deal of sense (though certainly one might argue for some slight disjointments) and makes for an interesting (but to us, perhaps amusing) little narrative on its own.

There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. He had a little library made up of old numbers of The Union Jack, Pluck and The Halfpenny Marvel. The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.

Few people passed. Their team had finished solidly; they had been placed second and third and the driver of the winning German car was reported a Belgian. The other, who walked on the verge of the path and was at times obliged to step on to the road, owing to his companion’s rudeness, wore an amused listening face. By fighting his wife in the presence of customers and by buying bad meat he ruined his business. He was called Little Chandler because, though he was but slightly under the average stature, he gave one the idea of being a little man. He went heavily upstairs until he came to the second landing, where a door bore a brass plate with the inscription Mr Alleyne.

— “Maria, you are a veritable peace-maker!”

In the desk lay a manuscript translation of Hauptmann’s Michael Kramer, the stage directions of which were written in purple ink, and a little sheaf of papers held together by a brass pin.

— “I’ll get you a match,” said the old man.

After the first year of married life, Mrs Kearney perceived that such a man would wear better than a romantic person, but she never put her own romantic ideas away. He opened his eyes for an instant, sighed and closed them again. Julia, though she was quite grey, was still the leading soprano in Adam and Eve’s, and Kate, being too feeble to go about much, gave music lessons to beginners on the old square piano in the back room.