--There could be neither luck nor grace, Dante said, in a house where
there is no respect for the pastors of the church.
Mr Dedalus threw his knife and fork noisily on his plate.
--Respect! he said. Is it for Billy with the lip or for the tub of
guts up in Armagh? Respect!
--Princes of the church, said Mr Casey with slow scorn.
--Lord Leitrim's coachman, yes, said Mr Dedalus.
--They are the Lord's anointed, Dante said. They are an honour to their
country.
--Tub of guts, said Mr Dedalus coarsely. He has a handsome face, mind
you, in repose. You should see that fellow lapping up his bacon and
cabbage of a cold winter's day. O Johnny!
He twisted his features into a grimace of heavy bestiality and made a
lapping noise with his lips.
--Really, Simon, you should not speak that way before Stephen. It's
not right.
--O, he'll remember all this when he grows up, said Dante hotly--the
language he heard against God and religion and priests in his own home.
--Let him remember too, cried Mr Casey to her from across the table,
the language with which the priests and the priests' pawns broke
Parnell's heart and hounded him into his grave. Let him remember that
too when he grows up.
--Sons of bitches! cried Mr Dedalus.
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