But he did neither: and, when he was sitting alone in the deserted tram, he tore his ticket into shreds and stared gloomily at the corrugated footboard. She was red in the face. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple orchards, azure of waves, the grey-fringed fleece of clouds. --How someone else? What do you mean by that statement? --I mean, said Stephen, that I was not myself as I am now, as I had to become.
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