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Joyce, James, 1882-1941

"Ulysses"

And
as for the lessee or keeper, who probably wasn't the other person at all,
he (B.) couldn't help feeling and most properly it was better to give
people like that the goby unless you were a blithering idiot altogether
and refuse to have anything to do with them as a golden rule in private
life and their felonsetting, there always being the offchance of a
Dannyman coming forward and turning queen's evidence or king's now like
Denis or Peter Carey, an idea he utterly repudiated. Quite apart from
that he disliked those careers of wrongdoing and crime on principle. Yet,
though such criminal propensities had never been an inmate of his bosom
in any shape or form, he certainly did feel and no denying it (while
inwardly remaining what he was) a certain kind of admiration for a man
who had actually brandished a knife, cold steel, with the courage of his
political convictions (though, personally, he would never be a party to
any such thing), off the same bat as those love vendettas of the south,
have her or swing for her, when the husband frequently, after some words
passed between the two concerning her relations with the other lucky
mortal (he having had the pair watched), inflicted fatal injuries on his
adored one as a result of an alternative postnuptial LIAISON by plunging
his knife into her, until it just struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-
the-Goat, merely drove the car for the actual perpetrators of the outrage
and so was not, if he was reliably informed, actually party to the ambush
which, in point of fact, was the plea some legal luminary saved his skin
on.


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