STEPHEN (Groans.) Who? Black panther vampire. (He sighs and stretches himself, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Who . . . drive . . . Fergus now. And pierce . . . wood’s woven shade? . . . (He turns on his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.) BLOOM Poetry. Well educated. Pity. (He bends again and undoes the buttons of Stephen’s waistcoat.) To breathe.
