―Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I’m quite frank with you. What have you against me now?
They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.
―Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.
―Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don’t remember anything.
He looked in Stephen’s face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.
Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:
―Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother’s death?
Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:
―What? Where? I can’t remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?
―You were making tea, Stephen said, and I went across the landing to get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawing room. She asked you who was in your room.
―Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.
―You said, Stephen answered, O, it’s only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead.
A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan’s cheek.
―Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?