-- i want that to be printed and read, mr deasy said. you will see at the next outbreak they will put an embargo on irish cattle. and it can be cured. it is cured. my cousin, blackwood price, writes to me it is regularly treated and cured in austria by cattledoctors there. they offer to come over here. i am trying to work up influence with the department. now i'm going to try publicity. i am surrounded by difficulties, by... intrigues, by... backstairs influence, by...
he raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke.
-- mark my words, mr dedalus, he said. england is in the hands of the jews. in all the highest places: her finance, her press. and they are the signs of a nation's decay. wherever they gather they eat up the nation's vital strength. i have seen it coming these years. as sure as we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction. old england is dying.
he stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. he faced about and back again.
-- dying, he said, if not dead by now.
the harlot's cry from street to street
shall weave old england's winding sheet.
his eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the sunbeam in which he halted.
-- a merchant, stephen said, is one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew or gentile, is he not?
-- they sinned against the light, mr deasy said gravely. and you can see the darkness in their eyes. and that is why they are wanderers on the earth to this day.
on the steps of the paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their gemmed fingers. gabbles of geese. they swarmed loud, uncouth about the temple, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. not theirs: these clothes, this speech, these gestures. their full slow eyes belied the words, the gestures eager and unoffending, but knew the rancours massed about them and knew their zeal was vain. vain patience to heap and hoard. time surely would scatter all. a hoard heaped by the roadside: plundered and passing on. their eyes knew the years of wandering and, patient, knew the dishonours of their flesh.