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Hello, Stephanos! Here comes The Dedalus! Ao!... Eh, give it over, Dwyer, I'm telling you, or I'll give you a stuff in the kisser for yourself... Ao! Good man, Towser! Duck him! Come along, Dedalus! Bous Stephanoumenos! Bous Stephaneforos! Duck him! Guzzle him now, Towser! Help! Help!... Ao! He recognized their speech collectively before he distinguished their faces.
I, Bous Stephanoumenos, bullockbefriending bard, am lord and giver of their life. He encircled his gadding hair with a coronal of vineleaves, smiling at Vincent. That answer and those leaves, Vincent said to him, will adorn you more fitly when something more, and greatly more, than a capful of light odes can call your genius father. All who wish you well hope this for you.
It was a pain to see them, and a sword-like pain to see the signs of adolescence that made repellent their pitiable nakedness. Perhaps they had taken refuge in number and noise from the secret dread in their souls. But he, apart from them and in silence, remembered in what dread he stood of the mystery of his own body. Stephanos Dedalos! Bous Stephanoumenos! Bous Stephaneforos!
Don't tell them he was nine years old when it was quenched. And from her arms. Wait to be wooed and won. Ay, meacock. Who will woo you? Read the skies. Autontimorumenos. Bous Stephanoumenos. Where's your configuration? Stephen, Stephen, cut the bread even. S. D: sua donna. Gi
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