Not a member?     Existing members login below:

--Back to barracks! he said sternly.
He added in a preacher's tone:
--For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine:
body and soul
and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes,
gents. One
moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles.
Silence, all.
He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of
call, then paused
awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth
glistening here and there
with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill
whistles answered
through the calm.
--Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do
nicely. Switch off
the current, will you?
He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his
watcher, gathering
about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump
shadowed face and
sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in
the middle ages.
A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.
--The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an
ancient Greek!
He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to
the parapet,
laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up,
followed him wearily
halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest,
watching him still as
he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush
in the bowl and
lathered cheeks and neck.
Remove