Cranly linked his arms into those of Stephen and his admirer and said: --NOS AD MANUM BALLUM JOCABIMUS. The lumps of knotted flock under his head reminded him of the lumps of knotted horsehair in the sofa of her parlour on which he used to sit, smiling or serious, asking himself why he had come, displeased with her and with himself, confounded by the print of the Sacred Heart above the untenanted sideboard. The troubling odour of the long corridors of Clongowes came back to him and he heard the discreet murmur of the burning gasflames. --A girl got into a hansom a few days ago, he went on, in London.
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