Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter.

―I’m weak, he gasped.

M’Coy’s white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave. Lenehan walked on again. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly. He glanced sideways in the sunlight at M’Coy.

―He’s a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said seriously. He’s not one of your common or garden⁠ ⁠… you know⁠ ⁠… There’s a touch of the artist about old Bloom.