I’m going, Mulligan, he said.

Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat.

Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes.

And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there.

Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:

He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord.

Thus spake Zarathustra.

His plump body plunged.

We’ll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up the path and smiling at wild Irish.