Page 403 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

It was a charming day.
The lychgate of a field showed Father Conmee
breadths of cabbages, curtseying to him with ample
underleaves. The sky showed him a flock of small white

clouds going slowly down the wind. Moutonner, the
French said. A just and homely word.
Father Conmee, reading his office, watched a flock of
muttoning clouds over Rathcoffey. His thinsocked ankles
were tickled by the stubble of Clongowes field. He
walked there, reading in the evening, and heard the cries
of the boys’ lines at their play, young cries in the quiet
evening. He was their rector: his reign was mild.
Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his
rededged breviary out. An ivory bookmark told him the
page.
Nones. He should have read that before lunch. But
lady Maxwell had come.
Father Conmee read in secret Pater and Ave and crossed
his breast. Deus in adiutorium.
He walked calmly and read mutely the nones, walking
and reading till he came to Res in Beati immaculati:
Principium verborum tuorum veritas: in eternum omnia indicia
iustitiae tuae.

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