#206 DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

#206 DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

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. Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall. Face...
#205 LET US HOPE

#205 LET US HOPE

LET US HOPE J. J. O’Molloy, about to follow him in, said quietly to Stephen: —I hope you will live to see it published. Myles, one moment. He went into the inner office, closing the door behind him. —Come along, Stephen, the professor said. That is fine, isn’t it? It...
#204 OMINOUS—FOR HIM!

#204 OMINOUS—FOR HIM!

OMINOUS—FOR HIM! J. J. O’Molloy said not without regret: —And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. —A sudden—at—the—moment—though—from—lingering—illness—often— previously—expectorated—demise, Lenehan added. And with a great future behind him. The...
#203 FROM THE FATHERS

#203 FROM THE FATHERS

FROM THE FATHERS It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were good could be corrupted. Ah, curse you! That’s saint Augustine. —Why will you jews not accept our culture, our...