Then Nasty Roche had said: --What kind of a name is that? And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty Roche had asked: --What is your father? Stephen had answered: --A gentleman. A vague dissatisfaction grew up within him as he looked on the quays and on the river and on the lowering skies and yet he continued to wander up and down day after day as if he really sought someone that eluded him. Every day there was something in the paper about it. Turned out for Sunday by his uncle's tailor, who had had a free hand and a notion of pretty waistcoats and of his grand little air, Miles's whole title to independence, the rights of his sex and situation, were so stamped upon him that if he had suddenly struck for freedom I should have had nothing to say.
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