(|1Faithful Place, Night town.1| |1rows Rows1| of grimy houses with gaping doors. |1Rare smoky lamps.1| Little men and women squabble for ices round a halted gondola. They receive wafers between which are wedged c lumps of coral and coppery snow. The little men and women scatter slowly, sucking |1up1| the melting coloured snow. They are children. The high reared comb of the gondola pushes on through the dark, passing under the lamplight, white and blue. Whistles are heard in the distance |1call calling and answering: Wait, my loves, and I'll be with you1|. On a step a ragpicker crouches to shoulder a sack. A |1hag crone1| standing by with a guttering oillamp rams a last bottle in the neck of his sack. He shoulders it and lurches off mutely, tugging his peaked cap askew on his eyes. The hag goes back into her lair swaying her lamp. A |1|abowlegged bandyleggeda|1| child asquat on the doorstep with a paper shuttlecock |1scrambles up to clutch her skirt crawls |asidlinga| after her c in jerks and, clutching her skirt scrambles upº1|. A drunken navvy holds grips with both hands the railings of an area, swaying heavily to and fro. At a corner two night patrols, in |1body shoulder1| capes, stand tall and silent |1their hands at rest on their staff holsters1|. A plate is heard to crash: a woman's scream follows. Figures, male and female, continue to pass through the murk, round corners, into doorways. In an openwindowed room, lit by a candle stuck in a bottleneck, |1two sluts a slut1| combs the natts out of another slut's hair. Heads are thrust out of windows to listen. A child is heard crying. The oaths of a man are roared out indistinctly. They die away. A girl's voice sings out, high |1and hoarse, still young1|, from a lane:
I gave it to
Because she was |1pretty jolly1|
The leg of the duck
The leg of the duck,
|1Three Two1| redcoats, swaggersticks |1held tight1| in their oxters, turn about and towards the voice and, without halting, emit in chorus a loud fart from their mouths. Laughter of men in the lane. A |1woman hoarse hag1| calls:
The redcoats, turn as before and reply. They march on. The girl's voice rises higher:
The redcoats halt |1with beside1| the patrol and talk. |1Their tunics are bloodbright near the lamp, their blond heads closecropped, their biscuit caps set on the side lobes are round ballsockets.1| A girl with hair on the wind rushes across the street, |1her shawl1| flapping from her arms. She shrieks., laughing, rushing and is engulfed in a doorway. A burly navvy |1follows pursues her1| with long strides. He stumbles on the steps but recovers and plunges into the doorway after her. Weaker shrieks of laughter are heard: they stop. A young man in a black with a wide hat, pointing ahead with a flourish of his stick, passes through the figures, talking. A broader young man wearing a jockey cap walks beside him,. A sneer of disconcent is seen on his beaked face. An elderly woman |1seated on a doorstep lolled against a doorframe1| looks |1up out1| as they pass and calls |1in a discreet whisper1|.
They pass on, unseeing. She calls after them:
Still unheeded she spits. A redhaired girl seated with a friend on a doorstep |1draws her shawl rapidly across her nostrils as she relates:1| narrates rapidly:
says the one: I
place1| with your
not for you to say,1| says I.
You never seen me in the mantrap with a highlander, says I. And her walking with two fellows the one time.
So that the |1art of1| gesture renders visible not the lay sense but the first formal rhythm. Who wants a gesture to illustrate a loaf?, a jug? This movement illustrates |1Thou and1| the loaf |1of abread1| and jug of |1wine |awine and thou bread, or wine, I mean,a|1| in Omar. Hold my stick. He
Damn your |1yellow1| stick.
Stephen gives the stick quickly and slowly holds out his hands, his head going back till both hands are a span or so from his breast, downturned in the planes at an angle, the fingers at about to open, the left hand being higher.
Damn jugs and loaves. Which is the jug |1of bread1|? Illustrate Thou. Here take your stick.
They pass out of sight. A barefoot urchin scrambles to a street
c lamp and
climbs it in
jerks. From the
top he slides down to his ring of urchin friends. Another starts to climb. The
navvy, leaving hold of the railings, lurches against the lamp. The urchin slides
down: all scuttle off in the darkness. The navvy, swaying, presses a forefinger
against a wing of his nose. Swaying, he ejects from the other nostril
a |1long dribbling1| jet of snot.
Bloom comes round the corner hastily and stops. In |1one each1| hand he has a |1lukewarm1| paper parcel|1, one1| containing a |1lukewarm1| pig's crubeen and a |1cold1| sheep's trotter sprinkled with wholepepper, the other two slices of quartern loaf and a tablet of Fry's chocolate. He frowns slightly and hesitates. A stooped bearded figure appears beside him, in horned spectacles, dressed in a long caftan with |1embroidered with dog's heads1| and wearing a smoking cap with crimson tassel.
Half a crown wasted. I told you not go with drunken goys ever.
He looks down, conscious of error, feeling through the paper a warm crubeen and a cold trotter.
|1What are you doing?1| Are you |1not1| my son |1Leopold1|?
(Severely) One night they bring you home dead drunk. as a dog. after spend your good money. What you call those |arunninga| chaps?
Harriers. |aThe only time. Only |bthatb| once.a|
|aOnce!a| All mud head to foot. Cut your hand |aopena|. Goim Nachez
(weakly) They asked me to race them. I slipped.
(with contempt) Goim Nachez. Nice spectacles for your mother.
The Mother's Voice
(in |ashrilla| alarm) O, blessed |aGod Redeemera|, where were you at all?
Bloom looks down at his clothes and bestows the chocolate & bread in a sidepocket.1|
A handsome woman in |1scarlet1| Turkish trou costume stands before him. Her opulent curves fill |1out1| her |1scarlet1| trousers and jacket. A |1violet white1| yashmak |1violet in the night1|, covers her face and hair leaving free only her large dark eyes.
He breathes in deep agitation, wavering. Questions |1rise throng1| to his lips: He swallows them down. He wishes to |1fall down at sink to the ground at near1| her slippers. He wishes to tell her that he bought the crubeen, the trotter, the bread, and the chocolate for her supper. He wishes and unwishes, is cold warm, then cold, knows then knows not, before her stands helpless, |1facinated spellbound1| by her eyes and dress. |1Beneath her turreted turban a coin gleams on her brow. Her anklets are linked together by a fetterchain. Beside her a camel waits, with hood and palanquin, a ladder of countless steps reaching to his hump.1| unread |1A dark slow friendly mockery steals into her eyes.1|
Ti trema un poco il core?
She |1turns saunters1| away in disdain. He follows |1following followed by a sniffing terrier1|. She is gone. The elderly woman seizes his sleeve. Instinctively he tightens his grip on the crubeen and trotter. The woman pours into his ear a fetid husky message.
— Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing that was never touched. Fifteen.
— |1Are you game? Any good in your mind?1|
He thinks of giving the crubeen and trotter to the procuress. Gertie MacDowell limps to his side. Leering, she |1draws from behind her1| shows him coyly |1a bloody something. It is a bloodied1| clout. She whispers:
— You did that.
There is some mistake. I? When?
|1(pawing his coat)1| Dirty |1married1| man. I love you. for |1doing1| that.
The |1Woman Procuress1|
Mrs Breen stands in the middle of the street. She |1throws1| opens her mouth, eyes and arms, astonished.
You down here? |1O,1| Wait till I see Molly.
(confused) |1How do you do?1| It's a short cut home. I just was buying something for supper. Very good place round there for hot pigs' feet. |1Best value in Dublin.1| |1Feel how hot.1|
|1Richie G. stands by weighted with the |ablacka| legal bag of Colles & Ward on which a skull & crossbones are painted in limewash. He opens it and shows it full of white puddings, kippered herring
Best value in Dublin1|
(Cautiously) Don't attract the attention of these people. I want to tell you a little secret about how I came here. But between ourselves. |1You must never tell1| Not even Molly. |1I have special reason.1|
O, not for worlds. Tell me.
He shakes himself free from the procuress and walks on with Mrs Breen|1, followed by the sniffing dog1|. |1The dog slinks at their heels, sniffing.1|
Do you remember a
long long time ago when
after Milly was
weaned1| we all went
Molly won seven shillings on a horse named
Nevertell1| and coming
home in the |1break wagonette1| you were sitting beside me |1and you wore that a new hat Denis had |ajusta| bought you and that didn't become you at all as m well as the missing toque1| and Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef |1out of Mrs Joe Gallagher's basket and laughing because Paul Rogerson |a& Maggot O'Reillya| was mimicking the cock as we passed a farmhouse on the road and Marcus Tertius Moses, the tea merchant, drove past us with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and the poodle |athey had in her lap bridled up &a| began to bark1| and you asked me if I ever heard or read or came across …......
(eagerly) Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
She fades from his side. He walks on alone, sorry, displeased, uncertain, mistrustful, excited, amid |1past towards1| hell's gates. In an archway a woman pisses loudly, standing, her feet planted apart, pisses noisily. Outside a shuttered pub a group of |1men loiterers1| listen to the end of a story which a |1|abrokennosed brokensnouteda|1| man relates with rasping humour. |1He half crouches to show them |aand laughs raucouslya|.1|
|1(guffawing)1| O, jays! Jays, that's a good one! |1Glauber Salts.1| O, jays, into the |1men's1| porter.
They laugh in all voices. Some scratch, indifferent to the scene about them. Cheap whores, emboldened by bold, dishevelled, solicit singly and in couples call from |1doorways hallways1|, laneways, doorsteps.
— Come here, queer fellow.
— That you, love?
— Have you a match on you?
— He's going down to Mrs |1Mack Mack's1|.
— Sh! Come here till I feel it for you.
Bloom |1passed passes |athrough the swampa|1| into the lower street. The housedoors are open. Women Gaudy women loll in the lighted halls or about the doors smoking |1birdseye1| cigarettes. The odour of the sicksweet weed floats round Bloom. Kisses are chirped towards him. Ashamed, fluttered he tries to hide his parcel.
I cannot go back. In which house have they gone? |1I could ask a woman.1| |1And But1| this parcel. |1Shall I eat it? Where? Get myself all sticky.1| Useless waste.
He perceives the dog. An idea strikes him. He returns a few yards to a dark corner, followed by the terrier and opens the parcel. He throws the crubeen softly in the corner. He would like to eat the trotter but, after a moment, throws it down regretfully |1and the bread with the bread1|. The terrier, snarling with famine, gluts himself greedily, crunching the bones. |1Two raincaped |awatchmen watcha| approach. They lay hands on his shoulders.
Commit no nuisance.
(Stammers) I am doing |aa good work good to othersa|.
|aHe points. Bob Doran sways over the dog.
The dog growls ominously. Bob Doran falls softly sideways into an area.a|
Name and address …..
Bloom hastily takes a card from inside the leather headband of his hat and gives it.
(reading) Henry Flower
|aBlooma| (|aproduces producinga| a yellow flower|a.,a| |aHea| murmurs |awords about privately & confidentially)a| This is the flower. We are engaged, you see. |aChange of name. Virag.a|
(veiled, in tone of reproach, pointing) Henry! |aYou deceived me,a| Leopold! |aLionel, thou lost one!a|
Come to the station.
(in alarm) No, no. |aLet me explain.a| My wife! I live in Eccles street. I am a respectable married man. |aA journalist. I write for the Freeman.a|
(in |aaa| lowcut opal dress) Arrest him, officer. He wrote me an anonymous letter when my husband was on circuit |asigned James Lovebircha|. He said he saw me in a box at the Gaiety. |aThat I inflamed him.a| He made improper overtures to me.
(in a fur mantle, steps out of her carriage) Also to me. Because he closed my carriage door one rainy day |boutside sir Thornley Stoker'sb|. He wrote urging me to commit adultery whenever possible |bHe offered me |cthe works of a work byc| Paul de Kock The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays.b|a|
(produces handcuffs) Here are the darbies.
The Honourable Mrs Paget Butler
(in riding costume, topboots, hard hat, long train, and riding crop) with which she strikes her boot constantly) |aAlso to me.a| Whip him. He saw me on the polo ground in the |aPhoenixa| park. He sent me in an envelope an obscene photograph |ainsulting to any ladya|. I have it still. He urged me to sin with officers of the army and navy. He implored me to chastise him|a, as he deserveda|.
Mrs Brereton Barry
The Honourable Mrs Paget Butler
(suddenly, |aterribly furiouslya|) I will. I will thrash him |a|bblack and blueb| in the public streeta|. |aHe is a wellknown cuckold.a| Take down his trousers. Quick!
|aThe brass quoits of a bed are heard to jingle
|xThe faces of Martin Cunningham, unread Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Ned Lambert, Tom Kernan, John Henry Menton, Myles Crawford, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, Lenehan, McCoy and |aand a Nameless One.a| appear simultaneously in the jurybox.
The Nameless One
|a(snarls)a| |a|bOrganiser? Didn't I tell he'd organise her? Arse over tip.b|a| Hundred shillings to five!
|a(gravely)a| We all thought so.x|
(awed, whispers) He is in black. An anarchist! A bomb it is.
(desperately) No, no. Pig's feet. I was at a funeral.
(|alifts drawsa| his truncheon) Liar!
The dog lifts his face. He has devoured all. He grows to a great size suddenly. |aHis terrier coat becomes a brown habit.a| He has the face |aand voicea| of Paddy Dignam. |aHe speaks in a loud hollow voice:a|
It is true. It was my funeral. |a(He lifts an ashen face and bays lugubriously)a|
(triumphantly) You see!
But how |acan that be is that possiblea|?
It is not in the catechism.a|
He |adisappears crawls |b|cwormlike & wormsc|b|a| down |ainto |bthroughb|a| a coalhole, his brown habit trailing after him. The women grow dark. The watch recede.1|
Bloom goes forward again. New louder kisses are chirped to him. A piano sounds. He stands before the house, listening. The kisses fly about him, twittering.
Leo! Icky sticky licky |amickya| for Leo! Coo coo coo coocoo! Yummy yum|a, unreadg womwoma| big come big pirouette, Leolee! O Leo!1|
A man's touch that is. Perhaps they are here. Sad music. Church music. Yes, it is here.
enters the house. Zoe
a young whore in sapphire slip
|aclosed with four
buckle pinsa|, coos to him.
She comes down the steps and accosts him)1|
|1Are you looking for someone.1| He's inside with his friend.
Is this Mrs Mack's?
|1(suspiciously)1| I thought from your both being in black.
She takes his arm, cuddling him. |1Strange oriental music is played slowly, note by note1| He looks into her brown eyes, |1the eyes of a gazelle: they gazelles are leaping feeding on the mountains. Near1| are lakes. |1He sees the black Black1| shadows of fo cedar forests file round them. A perfume |1of resin1| rises from the fine strong |1hair1| growth|1, of resin1|. It burns, the orient, a sky of sapphire |1cleft by the bronze flight of eagles1|. Under it the woman city lies white, nude nude, white, cool |1in luxury1|. A fountain murmurs among purple roses. |1The mammoth1| Roses of scarlet |1wine1| grapes murmur. Shame A wine of shame, blood, lust exudes from them. |1Within a sepulchre, the gold of kings & their mouldering bones. |aShe smiles, showing her goldstopped teeth.a|1|
|1(mechanically caressing her left bub)1| I knew. Are you a Dublin girl
|1(as |ashe the free handa| catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to her coil)1| Not bloody much. I'm English.
Have you a swaggerroot? for me?
(as before) I don't smoke, dear. Are yo Where are you from? London?
(smiles) & nods |1slowly1|) More. More.
And more's mother? |1Come. Coming in?1|
|1He stands listening to music, inhaling scents, seeing colours, feeling being tempted.)
She leads him up the steps by his hand, the odour of her armpits and the vice of her eyes. |1the rustle of her slip in which lurks the leonine reek of all the males that have possessed her.
(roaring faintly) Good! (?)1|
They reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated. She precedes him They examine him curiously, lazily and at last smile to his hasty bow)
(at the threshold standing aside) After you is good manners.
Ladies first, gentlemen after.
She goes first into the house: he goes after.
On the return landing a door is thrown open.
A man in shirt and
trousers crosses, his braces undone dangle behind him
him1| like a twotailed
and Bloom enter
face,a| follows Zoe
into1| the parlour.
The gaslamp is covered with
mauve1| tissuepaper so
that the light is dim. A moth flies round and round, colliding against it. On
China dogs. On the
flank of each is painted a
the grate is a screen Between them a vase
full1| of peacock
grate is a Japanese parasol
screen.1| On a rug of
matted sheepskin before the fireplace Lynch is seated crosslegged, his cap
on his back to the
beats time to the music with a wand in his
Lawrence, a bony
whore in street costume,
sits on the side of a high |1sofa armchair1|, swinging her leg. |1Lynch indicates |adecisivelya| the other group.
(behind her hand) She's a little imbecillic.1|
Lynch |1lifts tips1| up her skirt |1and white petticoat1| with his wand.
(going to the chandelier, turns the gas full on) More limelight, Charley.
The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: it is a brass poker. Stephen stands by the piano, on which lie his stick and hat. He repeats once more the series of empty fifths. |1Florrie Talbot,1| A blond feeble |1|agoosefat goosewhitea|1| whore, |1Florrie Talbot,1| in a mildewed gown of strawberry, lolls |1over the other spreadeagle a1| sofa corner, listening, a heavy stye drooping over her sleepy eyelid.
As a matter of fact it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. |aThe rite is the poet's rest.a| It may be an ancient Greek song to Demeter or it may illustrate the eighteenth psalm Cœli enarrant gloriam Domini. It is susceptible of modes so far apart as the hyperphrygian and the mixoldy mixolydian because, even of |awords textsa| so divergent as |athe haihooping of priests round Ceres altarsa| David's |atip from the stablea| to his chief tomtom player concerning God's glory, night to night shewing knowledge. Why Lord Mayor Kitty Ricketts
|aBah!a| It is because it is. Jewgreek Greekjew. Extremes meet. Death is the highest form of life. |aBah!a|
You remember quite accurately all my little errors, boasts, mistakes, faults: Whetstone!
Here is another. It is because the fundamental and the dominant are separated by the greatest interval which
Which? Finish if you can. Which?
(with an effort) interval which is the greatest |ais consistent elipse. Consistenta| with. The ultimate return. Or octave. In which.
What went forth to traverse not itself having |aitselfa| traversed itself becomes that self which is itself
|aThe Cap Lyncha|
(|awhinnies with laughtera| grinning at Florrie Talbot) What a learned speech, eh?
Florrie Power with obese stupor regards Stephen
A female steam |aflows leaksa| out from her, obfuscating the sight of all, redolent of sex. In the obscurity Elijah's voice is heard, shrill as a cock's
Just one more word. Are you a god or a clod? Florrie Christ, Stephen Christ, Bloom Christ |aYou have that Something Withina|, it's up to you to sense that cosmic force. It is immense. |aWe are all All join |bup onb|a| in this vibration. |aIt vibrates. It restores.a| I am I know. And I am some vibrator. You call me up any old time by sunphone any old time. |aSunphones.a| Harmonial Philosophy. Have you got that?1|
(hiccups again) O, excuse. |1She bends over again more quickly. A |abrowna| feather boa uncoils and slides, glides over her shoulder, back, arm, chair to the ground and coils a catterpillar. Stephen, glances behind & sees Lynch's squatted figure with the cap back to the front.1|
Lynch offers her one. She stretches up and lights it over the gasjet. With his poker he lifts up a side of her gown boldly. |1Bare from her shoes up her flesh between the sapphire runread is lizardgreen1|
(calmly) Can you see the beauty spot of my behind?
Litpold Virag, Bloom's double, wearing Stephen's hat, Buck
Mulligan's primrose vest, and a brown mackintosh under which he holds a
book in two tomes1|, stands somewhat
behind Bloom who sees him
(points to Zoe Higgins and|1, with a cough1| speaks in a |1mocking dry1| voice) There is a lot of nakedness knocking about, what? You perceive that she is not wearing what you like. |1At the same time she On the other hand the seated one1| is in walking costume and I always understood that the act performed so pleased you by reason of |1exhibitionistic1| its procedure of. |1especially, I believe in the furs of beasts1| Am I right?
But she is |1terribly1| lean.
|1True. And the |apanniera| effect |aof those pannier pocketsa| of the skirt is intended to give the impression of breadth.1| Well then, the third. |1Her beam is broad.1| She is |1covered coated1| with a considerable layer of fat. You perceive that she has in front two protuberances which are of |1a1| respectable |1size dimensions1| and on the other side, lower down, two protuberances which are even larger. |1When they are coopfattened their livers reach |aa prodigious an elephantinea| size. |aPellets of new breadpills with fenugreek, swamped down by draughts of green tea produce a |bnatural cushionsb| on them a colossal blubber.a|1| That suits your taste, eh?
The stye I dislike.
Perhaps it is a wart. |1(coughs)1| I presume you remember what I told you on that subject. |1Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg is a good cure.1|
(reflecting) It has been a fatiguing day. Wait. Bloodwarts, I mean wartsblood spreads warts.
(Severely) Exercise your mnemotechnic.
Mnemno? |aRosemary also.a|
Technic. (with energy1|
|1Caustic. They must be starved.1| Snip off with a horsehair under the denned neck. But to change the subject have you made up your mind yet whether you like or dislike women in |1male1| costume, |1You intended to devote one year to a study of the religious problem. From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step.1| pyjamas, let us say? |1Or those complicated combinations, camiknickers.1|
Bloom |1looks uncertainly1| uncertainly watches the everflying moth.
|1|a|bVirag whispers in his ear, Bloom repeatsb|
|bIt suits him. Night bird to night town. The Midnight sun.b| Those night insects which follow light |bThose of the Insects of theb| day spend their brief existence chiefly in repeated coitions. |bSmell The smellb| of the female attracts them. |bButb| Those night insects which follow light are the victims of error. Their movements are automatic. |bThey no longer pursue |cand fecundatec| the female.b| The bee, as I observed the other day, was butting against his own shadow on the wall. |b|cHe dazed himself & drowsed me.c| He made me drowsy.b| In a dazed condition he wandered into my shirt and reached my belly. It was well I woke. A woman's case is still worse. That is |bwhen whyb| they fear insects all vermin. They feel themselves always open. Eve v. Serpent?a|
I'm a tiny tiny thing
Ever flying in the spring
Round and round in ringaring.
Long ago I was a King
Now I do this sort of thing
On the wing, on the wing
He rushes against the red tissuepaper, flapping noisily.
Pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats1|
Henry Flower, stands between Bloom and Virag, both of whom
he resembles. He |1is dressed in wears a drooping black sombrero1| a black velvet cloak under which he holds a dulcimer.
(in a low voice) All is lost now.
|1Virag |alooks staresa| at the lamp, Bloom regards Zoe's neck, Henry turns to the piano1|
(to himself) I am slightly drunk (he touches the key he touches the keys again. Florrie Power regards him with stupour
There was a priest here on Monday |ato do his bit of businessa| with his coat buttoned up. You needn't try to hide, I says to him, I know you've a Roman collar.
|a(over his shoulder)a| You would have preferred the founder of |athea| protestant error
(lightly) All one and the same God to me.1|
He is. He is a cardinal's son.
|1His Eminence1| Cardinal Simon Dedalus appears in the doorway. He is |1all1| in red, shoes, socks, soutane and berretta. |1He has a battered silk hat sideways on his head and a corkscrew massboys hanging on his breast1| Seven|1, the seven1| cardinal sins also in red hold up his train. |1He looks at all, for a moment, his right eye closed, his left cheek puffed out1|
(struggling to suppress his merriment, proclaims with bloated pomp)
Conservio lies captured
He lies in the lowest dungeon,
With manacles and chains around his limbs,
Weighing upwards of three tons
He retires, his face twisted to one side. Bloom advances and taking the chocolate from his pocket offers it to Zoe Higgins.
She takes a piece and nibbles. Kate |1Lawrence Ricketts1| does the same. Zoe
(invitingly to Lynch) No objections
to French lozenges?
|1At a sign from him As he opens his mouth1| she tosses him a piece of the chocolate. He catches it and chews. Kate |1Lawrence Ricketts1| offers a piece to Bloom.
What if it were aphrodisiac? But no, I bought it. |1Vanilla too is a sedative1| Mnemnotechnic. Possibly the confused light here confuses the memory. It seems to influence the taste also of this chocolate. |1This colour influences lupus. It encourages hypocondriacs. My figure is sad here in black. The choice of colours is important, suggestive. Let me eat and rejoice here.1| Or is it because I have not tasted chocolate for a long time. I shall look for some truffles tomorrow.
Bella Cohen, a massive whoremistress, enters the room. She is dressed in a black evening gown and carries a |1black1| fan |1of plumes1| which she flutters. Her eyes are |1heavily deeply1| carboned. She has an incipient moustache. Her c face is heavy, fullnosed, olivecomplexioned. She has huge pendent earrings.
My word! I'm all of a mucksweat.
She glances round her at the young couples. Then her eyes rest on Bloom with hard insistency. Her large fan winnows cooler wind towards her face and neck and bosom. |1Her |afalcona| eyes glitter.1|
It closes together and rests on against her left earring
Is this was as you |1now thought1| before? |1Were then here Was She |anevera| then what1| you here since knew? Am all one and the same now me?
(with deep humility) Powerful being!
In my eyes read that slumber which women love. The submission of my soul is absolutely unlimited. Awe and despair possess me.
(|1comes near approaches1|, furling her fan)
|1(winces)1| Enormously I desire your domination. But I fear you. also. I am alone, exhausted, abandoned. The door and window open in a right line cause and draught. I have felt a twinge of |1rheumatism sciatica1| in my |1back left glutear muscle1|. Long exposure on the rocks in the late evening may have occasioned it. Would, O would, I were young! |1missing1| Queen, marvellous |1commanding1| woman, restore to me my youth. |1O, Embrace of universal woman! Abundantly1| I will eat from your hands. Feed me with miracleworking truffles.
|1|xhot hide of goatsx|1|
|a(with a hard stare)a| Hound of dishonour!
Adorer of the adulterous rump!
(tips him playfully on the shoulder |1with her fan1|) Down!