―Are we late? Mr Power asked.

―Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham said, looking at his watch.

Molly. Milly. Same thing watered down. Her tomboy oaths. O jumping Jupiter! Ye gods and little fishes! Still, she’s a dear girl. Soon be a woman. Mullingar. Dearest Papli. Young student. Yes, yes: a woman too. Life. Life.

The carriage heeled over and back, their four trunks swaying.

―Corny might have given us a more commodious yoke, Mr Power said.

―He might, Mr Dedalus said, if he hadn’t that squint troubling him. Do you follow me?