He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:

Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

Then he said to Haines:

The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey trickle over a slice of the loaf.

Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about the loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:

I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.

Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit. Conscience. Yet here’s a spot.

That one about the cracked lookingglass of