into it. I don't know what you wish to do in life. Is it what you told me the night we were standing outside Harcourt Street station?—
—Yes—Stephen said, smiling in spite of himself at Cranly's way of remembering thoughts in connexion with places.—The night you spent half an hour wrangling with Doherty about the shortest way from Sallygap to Larras.—
—Pothead!—Cranly said with calm contempt.—What does he know about the way from Sallygap to Larras?—Or what does he know about anything for that matter? And the big slobbering washingpot head of him!—
He broke into a loud long laugh.
—Well?—Stephen said.—Do you remember the rest?—
—What you said, is it?—Cranly asked.—Yes, I remember it. To discover the mode of life or of art whereby your spirit could express itself in unfettered freedom.—
Stephen raised his hat in acknowledgement.
—Freedom!—Cranly repeated.—But you are not free enough yet to commit a sacrilege. Tell me would you rob?—
—I would beg first—Stephen said.
—And if you got nothing, would you rob?—
—You wish me to say—Stephen answered—that the rights of property are provisional, and that in certain circumstances it is not unlawful to rob. Everyone would act in that belief. So I will not make you that answer. Apply to the jesuit theologian, Juan Mariana de Talavera, who will also explain to you in what circumstances you may lawfully Kill your king and whether you had
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