Портрет художника в юності

           Dixonturnedtowardshim,sayinginasoftvoice:

           —Didanangelspeak?

           Cranlyturnedalsoandsaidvehementlybutwithoutanger:

           —Goggins,you’retheflamingestdirtydevilIevermet,doyouknow.

           —Ihaditonmymindtosaythat,Gogginsansweredfirmly.Itdidnooneanyharm,didit?

           —Wehope,Dixonsaidsuavely,thatitwasnotofthekindknowntoscienceasaPAULOPOSTFUTURUM.

           —Didn’tItellyouhewasasmiler?saidTemple,turningrightandleft.Didn’tIgivehimthatname?

           —Youdid.We’renotdeaf,saidthetallconsumptive.

           Cranlystillfrownedatthestoutstudentbelowhim.Then,withasnortofdisgust,heshovedhimviolentlydownthesteps.

           —Goawayfromhere,hesaidrudely.Goaway,youstinkpot.Andyouareastinkpot.

           Gogginsskippeddownontothegravelandatoncereturnedtohisplacewithgoodhumour.TempleturnedbacktoStephenandasked:

           —Doyoubelieveinthelawofheredity?

           —Areyoudrunkorwhatareyouorwhatareyoutryingtosay?askedCranly,facingroundonhimwithanexpressionofwonder.

           —Themostprofoundsentenceeverwritten,Templesaidwithenthusiasm,isthesentenceattheendofthezoology.Reproductionisthebeginningofdeath.