A gruff squire on horseback with shiny top boots. Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honor!... Day!... Day!... Two top boots jog dangling on to Dublin. Lal the ral the ra. Lal the ral the raddy.
—That reminds me, Mr. Deasy said. You can do me a favor, Mr. Dedalus, with some of your literary friends. I have a letter here for the press. Sit down a moment. I have just to copy the end.
He went to the desk near the window, pulled in his chair twice and read off some words from the sheet on the drum of his typewriter.
—Sit down. Excuse me, he said over his shoulder, the dictates of common sense. Just a moment.
He peered from under his shaggy brows at the manuscript by his elbow and, muttering, began to prod the stiff buttons of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he screwed up the drum to erase an error.

License information: nan
MPAA: G
Go to source: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4300/4300-h/4300-h.htm