Портрет художника в юности

           —Whatisitfor?

           —QUOD?

           —Whatisitfor?

           CranlyturnedhispalefacetoStephenandsaidblandlyandbitterly:

           —PERPAXUNIVERSALIS.

           —StephenpointedtotheTsar’sphotographandsaid:

           —HehasthefaceofabesottedChrist.

           ThescornandangerinhisvoicebroughtCranly’seyesbackfromacalmsurveyofthewallsofthehall.

           —Areyouannoyed?heasked.

           —No,answeredStephen.

           —Areyouinbadhumour?

           —No.

           —CREDOUTVOSSANGUINARIUSMENDAXESTIS,saidCranly,QUIAFACIESVOSTRAMONSTRATUTVOSINDAMNOMALOHUMOREESTIS.

           Moynihan,onhiswaytothetable,saidinStephen’sear:

           —MacCannisintiptopform.Readytoshedthelastdrop.Brandnewworld.Nostimulantsandvotesforthebitches.

           Stephensmiledatthemannerofthisconfidenceand,whenMoynihanhadpassed,turnedagaintomeetCranly’seyes.

           —Perhapsyoucantellme,hesaid,whyhepourshissoulsofreelyintomyear.Canyou?

           AdullscowlappearedonCranly’sforehead.HestaredatthetablewhereMoynihanhadbenttowritehisnameontheroll,andthensaidflatly:

           —Asugar!

           —QUISESTINMALOHUMORE,saidStephen,EGOAUTVOS?

           Cranlydidnottakeupthetaunt.