Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

He held the bowl aloft and intoned: - Introibo ad altare Dei. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages.

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Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said: - Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's death?

A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously. - That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth.

Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes. He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack, hair on end.

Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. With slit ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's shears.

If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.

Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom.

- You were making tea, Stephen said, and I went across the landing to get more hot water.

You know, Dedalus; you have the real Oxford manner. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade. - He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said.

Out here in the dark with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said: - The bard's noserag.

STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried: - Will he come?