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I don’t give a bugger who he is.

We don’t give a bugger who he is.

I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull.

H’lo. Bonjour! The vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes.

Socialiste!

(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese valant on his helm, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the privates.) Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

(To Stephen.) Come home. You’ll get into trouble.

(Swaying.) I don’t avoid it. He provokes my intelligence.

One immediately observes that he is of patrician lineage.

Green above the red, says he. Wolfe Tone.

The red’s as good as the green, and better. Up the soldiers! Up King Edward!