Портрет художника в юності

           ThemomenttheywerethroughthedoorwayCranlyseizedhimrudelybytheneckandshookhim,saying:

           —Youflamingflounderingfool!I’lltakemydyingbiblethereisn’tabiggerbloodyape,doyouknow,thanyouinthewholeflamingbloodyworld!

           Templewriggledinhisgrip,laughingstillwithslycontent,whileCranlyrepeatedflatlyateveryrudeshake:

           —Aflamingflaringbloodyidiot!

           Theycrossedtheweedygardentogether.Thepresident,wrappedinaheavyloosecloak,wascomingtowardsthemalongoneofthewalks,readinghisoffice.Attheendofthewalkhehaltedbeforeturningandraisedhiseyes.Thestudentssaluted,Templefumblingasbeforeatthepeakofhiscap.Theywalkedforwardinsilence.AstheynearedthealleyStephencouldhearthethudsoftheplayers’handsandthewetsmacksoftheballandDavin’svoicecryingoutexcitedlyateachstroke.

           ThethreestudentshaltedroundtheboxonwhichDavinsattofollowthegame.Temple,afterafewmoments,sidledacrosstoStephenandsaid:

           —Excuseme,Iwantedtoaskyou,doyoubelievethatJean-JacquesRousseauwasasincereman?

           Stephenlaughedoutright.Cranly,pickingupthebrokenstaveofacaskfromthegrassathisfeet,turnedswiftlyandsaidsternly:

           —Temple,IdeclaretothelivingGodifyousayanotherword,doyouknow,toanybodyonanysubject,I’llkillyouSUPERSPOTTUM.