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Updated: May 17, 2025
Is there anything else you want to know? Stephen asked. Are you in good circumstances at present? Do I look it? Stephen asked bluntly. So then, Cranly went on musingly, you were born in the lap of luxury. He used the phrase broadly and loudly as he often used technical expressions, as if he wished his hearer to understand that they were used by him without conviction.
Very young or very old? Hardly the first. If so, Cranly would not have spoken as he did. Old then. Probably, and neglected. Hence Cranly's despair of soul: the child of exhausted loins. MARCH 21, MORNING. Thought this in bed last night but was too lazy and free to add to it. Free, yes. The exhausted loins are those of Elizabeth and Zacchary. Then he is the precursor.
A sudden swift hiss fell from the windows above him and he knew that the electric lamps had been switched on in the reader's room. He turned into the pillared hall, now calmly lit, went up the staircase and passed in through the clicking turnstile. Cranly was sitting over near the dictionaries. A thick book, opened at the frontispiece, lay before him on the wooden rest.
Cranly pushed solemnly through the throng of students, linking Stephen and Temple like a celebrant attended by his ministers on his way to the altar. Temple bent eagerly across Cranly's breast and said: Did you hear MacAlister what he said? That youth is jealous of you. Did you see that? I bet Cranly didn't see that. By hell, I saw that at once.
That was the first definition I gave you, you sleepy-headed wretch, said Stephen, when I began to try to think out the matter for myself. Do you remember the night? Cranly lost his temper and began to talk about Wicklow bacon. I remember, said Lynch. He told us about them flaming fat devils of pigs.
Cranly pressed Stephen's arm, saying: Go easy, my dear man. You're an excitable bloody man, do you know. He laughed nervously as he spoke and, looking up into Stephen's face with moved and friendly eyes, said: Do you know that you are an excitable man? I daresay I am, said Stephen, laughing also. Their minds, lately estranged, seemed suddenly to have been drawn closer, one to the other.
Do you know what we call a notion like that in Roscommon? Hoosh! Blast you! Cranly cried, clapping his hands. Neither my arse nor my elbow! Temple cried out scornfully. And that's what I call limbo. Give us that stick here, Cranly said.
I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake, and perhaps as long as eternity too. Cranly, now grave again, slowed his pace and said: Alone, quite alone. You have no fear of that. And you know what that word means?
He walked on across the hall with Dixon, leaving Cranly to take leave elaborately of the dwarf. Under the colonnade Temple was standing in the midst of a little group of students. One of them cried: Dixon, come over till you hear. Temple is in grand form. Temple turned on him his dark gipsy eyes. You're a hypocrite, O'Keeffe, he said. And Dixon is a smiler.
I had it on my mind to say that, Goggins answered firmly. It did no one any harm, did it? We hope, Dixon said suavely, that it was not of the kind known to science as a PAULO POST FUTURUM. Didn't I tell you he was a smiler? said Temple, turning right and left. Didn't I give him that name? You did. We're not deaf, said the tall consumptive. Cranly still frowned at the stout student below him.
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