Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle.
They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale.
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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.
Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?
Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.
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.
Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said: - Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's death?