Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old woman’s wheedling voice: —When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said.
Fragments of shapes, hewn.
Of course it’s all paradox, don’t you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the colour, but it’s so typical the way he works it out.
Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling: —So I do, Mrs Cahill, says she.
Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsened rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf: —For old Mary Ann She doesn’t care a damn.
He proposed to set up there a national fertilising farm to be named Omphalos with an obelisk hewn and erected after the fashion of Egypt and to offer his dutiful yeoman services for the fecundation of any female of what grade of life soever who should there direct to him with the desire of fulfilling the functions of her natural.