Cranly, leaning against a pillar, was picking his teeth with a sharpened match, listening to some companions. "Don't you, then, LOVE our sweet Flora?" "If I didn't--and you, too; if I didn't--!" he repeated as if retreating for a jump, yet leaving his thought so unfinished that, after we had come into the gate, another stop, which he imposed on me by the pressure of his arm, had become inevitable. To say it in words! His soul, stifling and helpless, would cease to be. Mr Casey tapped the gland of his neck and smiled at Stephen with sleepy eyes: and Mr Dedalus said to him: --Yes.