newsboy came pattering down the stairs at their heels and rushed out into the street, yelling:
―Racing special!
Dublin. I have much, much to learn.
They turned to the left along Abbey street.
―I have a vision too, Stephen said.
―Yes, the professor said, skipping to get into step. Crawford will follow.
Another newsboy shot past them, yelling as he ran:
―Racing special!
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.
Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the