Портрет художника в юности

           —Whatdoyoumean,Lynchaskedsurlily,bypratingaboutbeautyandtheimaginationinthismiserableGodforsakenisland?Nowondertheartistretiredwithinorbehindhishandiworkafterhavingperpetratedthiscountry.

           Therainfellfaster.WhentheypassedthroughthepassagebesideKildarehousetheyfoundmanystudentsshelteringunderthearcadeofthelibrary.Cranly,leaningagainstapillar,waspickinghisteethwithasharpenedmatch,listeningtosomecompanions.Somegirlsstoodneartheentrancedoor.LynchwhisperedtoStephen:

           —Yourbelovedishere.

           Stephentookhisplacesilentlyonthestepbelowthegroupofstudents,heedlessoftherainwhichfellfast,turninghiseyestowardsherfromtimetotime.Shetoostoodsilentlyamonghercompanions.Shehasnopriesttoflirtwith,hethoughtwithconsciousbitterness,rememberinghowhehadseenherlast.Lynchwasright.Hismindemptiedoftheoryandcourage,lapsedbackintoalistlesspeace.

           Heheardthestudentstalkingamongthemselves.Theyspokeoftwofriendswhohadpassedthefinalmedicalexamination,ofthechancesofgettingplacesonoceanliners,ofpoorandrichpractices.

           —That’sallabubble.AnIrishcountrypracticeisbetter.

           —HyneswastwoyearsinLiverpoolandhesaysthesame.Afrightfulholehesaiditwas.Nothingbutmidwiferycases.