shrive and oil for the grave all there is of her but her woman’s unclean loins, of man’s flesh made not in God’s likeness, the serpent’s prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes.
―Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her.
―Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines.
Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently.
―Irish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you?
―I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it. Are you from west, sir?
―I am an Englishman, Haines answered.