Портрет художника в юності

           —Hewaslikeyou,Ifancy,saidStephen,anemotionalman.

           —Blasthim,cursehim!saidCranlybroadly.Don’ttalktohimatall.Sure,youmightaswellbetalking,doyouknow,toaflamingchamber-potastalkingtoTemple.Gohome,Temple.ForGod’ssake,gohome.

           —Idon’tcareadamnaboutyou,Cranly,answeredTemple,movingoutofreachoftheupliftedstaveandpointingatStephen.He’stheonlymanIseeinthisinstitutionthathasanindividualmind.

           —Institution!Individual!criedCranly.Gohome,blastyou,foryou’reahopelessbloodyman.

           —I’manemotionalman,saidTemple.That’squiterightlyexpressed.AndI’mproudthatI’manemotionalist.

           Hesidledoutofthealley,smilingslyly.Cranlywatchedhimwithablankexpressionlessface.

           —Lookathim!hesaid.Didyoueverseesuchago-by-the-wall?

           Hisphrasewasgreetedbyastrangelaughfromastudentwholoungedagainstthewall,hispeakedcapdownonhiseyes.Thelaugh,pitchedinahighkeyandcomingfromaSomuscularframe,seemedlikethewhinnyofanelephant.Thestudent’sbodyshookalloverand,toeasehismirth,herubbedbothhishandsdelightedlyoverhisgroins.

           —Lynchisawake,saidCranly.

           Lynch,foranswer,straightenedhimselfandthrustforwardhischest.

           —Lynchputsouthischest,saidStephen,asacriticismoflife.