―Haven’t I? he cried. Mrs. Riordan, pity the poor blind.

Dante covered her plate with her hands and said:

―No, thanks.

Mr. Dedalus turned to uncle Charles.

―How are you off, sir?

―Right as the mail, Simon.

―You, John?

―I’m all right. Go on yourself.

―Mary? Here, Stephen, here’s something to make your hair curl.