BuckMulligan
From the window of the D.B.C. I gaily gaze down on the viceregal equipage over the shoulders of eager guests.
| BuckMulligan From a long face, a beard and a gaze hang on a chessboard. |
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| BuckMulligan @HAINESINDUBLIN -- Ten years. He is going to write something in ten years. |
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| BuckMulligan I slit a steaming scone in two and plaster butter over its smoking pith. I bite off a soft piece hungrily. |
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| BuckMulligan @HAINESINDUBLIN -- The joy of creation... |
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| BuckMulligan @HAINESINDUBLIN -- The note of Swinburne, of all poets, the white death and the ruddy birth. That is his tragedy. He can never be a poet. |
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| BuckMulligan @HAINESINDUBLIN -- They drove his wits astray, by visions of hell. He will never capture the Attic note. |
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| BuckMulligan @HAINESINDUBLIN -- You should see him, when his body loses its balance. Wandering Ængus I call him. |
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| BuckMulligan @HAINESINDUBLIN -- We call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad cakes. O, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. |
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| BuckMulligan I tell her to bring us two, and some scones and butter and some cakes as well. |
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| BuckMulligan @HAINESINDUBLIN -- Yes. That's John Howard, his brother, our city marshal. |
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| BuckMulligan We choose a small table near the window, opposite a longfaced man whose beard and gaze hang intently down on a chessboard. |
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| BuckMulligan As we tread across the thick carpet, I whisper behind my Panama @HAINESINDUBLIN -- Parnell's brother. There in the corner. |
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| BuckMulligan @STEPHENDEDALUS O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knifeblade. |
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| BuckMulligan @STEPHENDEDALUS Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. |
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| BuckMulligan @STEPHENDEDALUS He thinks you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money and indigestion. |
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| BuckMulligan I show a shaven cheek over my right shoulder. @STEPHENDEDALUS-- God, isn't he dreadful? A ponderous Saxon. |
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| BuckMulligan @STEPHENDEDALUS -- Yes, my love? |
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| BuckMulligan I lay the brush aside &, laughing with delight, cry: --Will he come? The jejune jesuit! Ceasing, I begin to shave with care. |
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| BuckMulligan @STEPHENDEDALUS Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out 20 quid? |
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