—Your soul!
Stephen stood with Lynch till the score began to rise. Then he plucked him by the sleeve to come away.
Lynch obeyed, saying:
—Let us eke go, as Cranly has it.
Stephen smiled at this sidethrust.
They passed back through the garden and out through the hall where the doddering porter was pinning up a hall notice in the frame. At the foot of the steps they halted and Stephen took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered it to his companion.
—I know you are poor, he said.
—Damn your yellow insolence, answered Lynch.