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teens, a growing boy. A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the mingling odours of the ladies’ cloakroom and lavatory, the throng penned tight on the old Royal stairs (for they love crushes, instinct of the herd, and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice), even a pricelist of their hosiery

father of Millicent receive this second part? With mixed feelings. Unsmiling, he heard and saw with wonder a jew’s daughter, all dressed in green. Condense Stephen’s commentary. One of all, the least of all, is the victim predestined. Once by inadvertence twice by design

adolescence’ doubt (the common doom), then scepticism, then disbelief, resting at last in manhood’s pondering repose of If. But once gone through, we trace the round again; and are infants, boys, and men, and Ifs eternally. Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more