Портрет художника в юності

           —Andpreachpoliticsfromthealtar,isit?askedMrDedalus.

           —Certainly,saidDante.Itisaquestionofpublicmorality.Apriestwouldnotbeapriestifhedidnottellhisflockwhatisrightandwhatiswrong.

           MrsDedaluslaiddownherknifeandfork,saying:

           —Forpitysakeandforpitysakeletushavenopoliticaldiscussiononthisdayofalldaysintheyear.

           —Quiteright,ma’am,saiduncleCharles.Now,Simon,that’squiteenoughnow.Notanotherwordnow.

           —Yes,yes,saidMrDedalusquickly.

           Heuncoveredthedishboldlyandsaid:

           —Nowthen,who’sformoreturkey?

           Nobodyanswered.Dantesaid:

           —Nicelanguageforanycatholictouse!

           —MrsRiordan,Iappealtoyou,saidMrsDedalus,toletthematterdropnow.

           Danteturnedonherandsaid:

           —AndamItosithereandlistentothepastorsofmychurchbeingflouted?

           —Nobodyissayingawordagainstthem,saidMrDedalus,solongastheydon’tmeddleinpolitics.

           —ThebishopsandpriestsofIrelandhavespoken,saidDante,andtheymustbeobeyed.

           —Letthemleavepoliticsalone,saidMrCasey,orthepeoplemayleavetheirchurchalone.

           —Youhear?saidDante,turningtoMrsDedalus.

           —MrCasey!Simon!saidMrsDedalus,letitendnow.