Mr Dedalus imitated the mincing nasal tone of the provincial. Then, resting his forehead against his hand, he leaned towards the grating and, with eyes still averted, spoke slowly. Who is the greatest writer, Dedalus? Stephen noted the mockery in the question and said: --Of prose do you mean? --Yes. Yet it appeared to me that we were all, at Bly, sufficiently sacrificed to make that venial.
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