One night the young peasant, his spirit stung by the violent or luxurious language in which Stephen escaped from the cold silence of intellectual revolt,had called up before Stephen's mind a strange vision.The two were walking slowly towards Davin's rooms through the dark narrow streets of the poorer jews.
—A thing happened to myself, Stevie, last autumn,coming on winter, and I never told it to a living soul and you are the first person now I ever told it to. I disremember if it was October or November. It was October because it was before I came up here to join the matriculation class.