? ? ?
Lenehan said to all:
—Silence! What opera resembles a railway line? Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.
Stephen handed over the typed sheets, pointing to the title and signature.
—Who? the editor asked.
Bit torn off.
—Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said.
—That old pelters, the editor said. Who tore it? Was he short taken?
On swift sail flaming
From storm and south
He comes, pale vampire,
Mouth to my mouth.
—Good day, Stephen, the professor said, coming to peer over their shoulders. Foot and mouth? Are you turned . . . ?
Bullockbefriending bard.
SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT
—Good day, sir, Stephen answered, blushing. The letter is not mine. Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to . . .
—O, I know him, Myles Crawford said, and knew his wife too. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made
