When she had gone he said, laughing:
―We call it D. B. C. because they have damn bad cakes. O, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet .
Haines opened his newbought book.
―I’m sorry, he said. Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance.
The onelegged sailor growled at the area of 14 Nelson street:
― England expects …
Buck Mulligan’s primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his laughter.
―You should see him, he said, when his body loses its balance. Wandering Ængus I call him.
―I am sure he has an idée fixe , Haines said, pinching his chin thoughtfully with thumb and forefinger. How I am speculating what it would be likely to be. Such persons always have.
Buck Mulligan bent across the table gravely.
―They drove his wits astray, he said, by visions of hell. He will never capture the Attic note. The note of Swinburne, of all poets, the white death and the ruddy birth. That is his tragedy. He can never be a poet. The joy of creation …
―Eternal punishment, Haines said, nodding curtly. I see. I tackled him this morning on belief. There was something on his mind, I saw. It’s rather interesting because Professor Pokorny of Vienna makes an interesting point out of that.
Buck Mulligan’s watchful eyes saw the waitress come. He helped her to unload her tray.