Do you know what I think about you now as compared
with myself?
--My dear man, said Cranly urbanely, you are incapable, do you know,
absolutely incapable of thinking.
--But do you know, Temple went on, what I think of you and of myself
compared together?
--Out with it, Temple! the stout student cried from the steps. Get it
out in bits!
Temple turned right and left, making sudden feeble gestures as he spoke.
--I'm a ballocks, he said, shaking his head in despair. I am and I
know I am. And I admit it that I am.
Dixon patted him lightly on the shoulder and said mildly:
--And it does you every credit, Temple.
--But he, Temple said, pointing to Cranly, he is a ballocks, too, like
me. Only he doesn't know it. And that's the only difference I see.
A burst of laughter covered his words. But he turned again to Stephen
and said with a sudden eagerness:
--That word is a most interesting word. That's the only English dual
number. Did you know?
--Is it? Stephen said vaguely.
He was watching Cranly's firm-featured suffering face, lit up now by a
smile of false patience. The gross name had passed over it like foul
water poured over an old stone image, patient of injuries; and, as he
watched him, he saw him raise his hat in salute and uncover the black
hair that stood stiffly from his forehead like an iron crown.
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