"Silent, each contemplating the other in both mirrors of the reciprocal flesh."
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"A porter bottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in the cakey sand dough. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst."
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"Mass seems to be over. Could hear them all at it. Pray for us. And pray for us. And pray for us. Good idea the repetition. Same thing with ads."
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"Famine, plague and slaughters. Their blood is in me, their lusts my waves."
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"Paternity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should love him or he any son?"
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"Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his."
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"Stephen stared at nothing in particular. He could hear, of course, all kinds of words changing colour like those crabs about Ringsend in the morning."
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