She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. Lank colis of seaweed hair around me, my heart, my sould. Salt green death.

We.

Agenbit of inwit. Inwit’s agenbite.

Misery! Misery!

–Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. How are things?

–Hello, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus answered, stopping.

They clasped hands loudly outside Reddy and Daughter’s. Father Cowley brushed his moustache often downward with a scooping hand.