Page 258 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

He went into the inner office, closing the door behind
him.
—Come along, Stephen, the professor said. That is
fine, isn’t it? It has the prophetic vision. Fuit Ilium! The

sack of windy Troy. Kingdoms of this world. The masters
of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.
The first newsboy came pattering down the stairs at
their heels and rushed out into the street, yelling:
—Racing special!
Dublin. I have much, much to learn.
They turned to the left along Abbey street.
—I have a vision too, Stephen said.
—Yes? the professor said, skipping to get into step.
Crawford will follow.
Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:
—Racing special!

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

Dubliners.
—Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, elderly and pious,
have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally’s lane.
—Where is that? the professor asked.
—Off Blackpitts, Stephen said.

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