Chapter 2

           

           UncleCharlessmokedsuchblacktwistthatatlasthisnephewsuggestedtohimtoenjoyhismorningsmokeinalittleouthouseattheendofthegarden.

           Verygood,Simon.Allserene,Simon,saidtheoldmantranquilly.Anywhereyoulike.Theouthousewilldomenicely:itwillbemoresalubrious.

           Damnme,saidMrDedalusfrankly,ifIknowhowyoucansmokesuchvillainousawfultobacco.It’slikegunpowder,byGod.

           It’sverynice,Simon,repliedtheoldman.Verycoolandmollifying.

           Everymorning,therefore,uncleCharlesrepairedtohisouthousebutnotbeforehehadgreasedandbrushedscrupulouslyhisbackhairandbrushedandputonhistallhat.Whilehesmokedthebrimofhistallhatandthebowlofhispipewerejustvisiblebeyondthejambsoftheouthousedoor.Hisarbour,ashecalledthereekingouthousewhichhesharedwiththecatandthegardentools,servedhimalsoasasounding-box:andeverymorninghehummedcontentedlyoneofhisfavouritesongs:O,TWINEMEABOWERorBLUEEYESANDGOLDENHAIRorTHEGROVESOFBLARNEYwhilethegreyandbluecoilsofsmokeroseslowlyfromhispipeandvanishedinthepureair.

           DuringthefirstpartofthesummerinBlackrockuncleCharleswasStephen’sconstantcompanion.UncleCharleswasahaleoldmanwithawelltannedskin,ruggedfeaturesandwhitesidewhiskers.

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