snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.

Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.

Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don’t remember anything.

He looked in Stephen’s face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.

Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:

Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother’s death?

Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:

What? Where? I can’t remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?