StephenDedalus
Lank coils of seaweed hair around me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death. We. Agenbite of inwit. Inwit's agenbite. Misery! Misery!
| StephenDedalus She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. |
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| StephenDedalus @DILLYDEDALUS -- Here. It's all right. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. I suppose all my books are gone. |
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| StephenDedalus Show no surprise. Quite natural. |
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| StephenDedalus I take the coverless book from her hand. Chardenal's French primer. @DILLYDEDALUS -- What did you buy that for? To learn French? |
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| StephenDedalus My eyes they say she has. Do others see me so? Quick, far and daring. Shadow of my mind. |
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| StephenDedalus @DILLYDEDALUS -- What have you there? |
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| StephenDedalus I told her of Paris. Late lieabed under a quilt of old overcoats, fingering a pinchbeck bracelet, Dan Kelly's token. Nebrakada femininum |
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| StephenDedalus @DILLYDEDALUS -- What are you doing? |
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| StephenDedalus Dilly's high shoulders and shabby dress. Shut the book quick. Don't let see. |
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| StephenDedalus What is this? Thumbed pages: read and read. Who has passed here before me? Who wrote this? |
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| StephenDedalus Tattered pages. I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti. |
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| StephenDedalus In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers holds my eye. I turn and halt by the slanted bookcart. |
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| StephenDedalus where they swirl, I. Shatter them, one and both. But stun myself too in the blow. Shatter me you who can. Bawd and butcher were the words. |
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| StephenDedalus Throb always without you and the throb always within. Your heart you sing of. I between them. Where? Between two roaring worlds |
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| StephenDedalus The whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the powerhouse urges me to be on. Beingless beings. Stop! |
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| StephenDedalus Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting. |
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| StephenDedalus And you who wrest old images from the burial earth? The brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes. A lore of drugs. |
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| StephenDedalus Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them. |
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| StephenDedalus leprous and winedark stones. Born all in the dark wormy earth, cold specks of fire, evil lights shining in the darkness. |
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