A sharp Ulster voice said from the bench below Stephen:
—Are we likely to be asked questions on applied science?
The professor began to juggle gravely with the terms pure science and applied science. A heavybuilt student,wearing gold spectacles, stared with some wonder at the questioner. Moynihan murmured from behind in his natural voice:
—Isn't MacAlister a devil for his pound of flesh.
Stephen looked coldly on the oblong skull beneath him overgrown with tangled twinecoloured hair. The voice, the accent, the mind of the questioner offended him and he allowed the offence to carry him towards wilful unkindness, bidding his mind think that the student's father would have done better had he sent his son to Belfast to study and have saved something on the train fare by so doing.