Mr Dedalus gave a snort of contempt.
--Ah, John, he said. It is true for them. We are an unfortunate
priest-ridden race and always were and always will be till the end of
the chapter.
Uncle Charles shook his head, saying:
--A bad business! A bad business!
Mr Dedalus repeated:
--A priest-ridden Godforsaken race!
He pointed to the portrait of his grandfather on the wall to his right.
--Do you see that old chap up there, John? he said. He was a good
Irishman when there was no money in the job. He was condemned to death
as a whiteboy. But he had a saying about our clerical friends, that he
would never let one of them put his two feet under his mahogany.
Dante broke in angrily:
--If we are a priest-ridden race we ought to be proud of it! They are the
apple of God's eye. TOUCH THEM NOT, says Christ, FOR THEY ARE THE APPLE
OF MY EYE.
--And can we not love our country then? asked Mr Casey. Are we not to
follow the man that was born to lead us?
--A traitor to his country! replied Dante. A traitor, an adulterer!
The priests were right to abandon him. The priests were always the true
friends of Ireland.
--Were they, faith? said Mr Casey.
He threw his fist on the table and, frowning angrily, protruded one
finger after another.
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