Fair Copy

Fair copy of §C, February 1921, draft level 2

MS Rosenbach Museum 37-39 Draft details

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wentº down in as the evidence went to show and there was a tattoo mark too in Indian ink, lord Bellew was it, as he might very easily have picked up the details from some pal on board ship. and then introduce himself with: Excuse me, my name is So and So or some such commonplaceº remark. A more prudent course, as Bloom said to the not over effusive in fact like the distinguished personage under discussion beside him, would have been to sound the lie of the land first.

— That bitch, that English whore, did for him, the shebeen proprietor commented. She put the first nail in his coffinº

— Fine lump of a woman all the same, the soidisant town clerk Henry Campbell remarked, and plenty of her. She loosened many a man's thighs. I seen her picture in a shop. The husband was a captain or an officer.

— Ay, Skin the Goat said, he was and a cottonball one.

This occasioned a fair amount of laughter among his entourage. As regards Bloom he reflected upon the historic story which had aroused extraordinary interest at the time when the facts, to make matters worse, were made public. with the usual |2affectionate2| letters |2that passed between them2| full of sweet nothings. First it was strictly Platonic till an attachment sprang up between them till the staggering blow came as a welcome intelligence to not a few, however, who were resolved upon encompassing his downfall though the thing was public property. Since their names were coupled though where was the necessity to proclaim it from the housetops the fact, namely, that he had shared her bedroom which came out in the witnessbox in the shape of scrambling out of an upstairs apartment with the assistance of a ladder in night apparel. a fact the weeklies, addicted to the lubric a little, coined money out of. Whereas it was simply a case of the husband not being up to much|2, with nothing in common between them |abut beyonda| the name,2| and then a real man on the scene, strong
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to the verge of weakness
, falling a victim to her charms and forgetting home ties, the usual |2sequel,2| to bask in the loved one's smiles. The eternal question, needless to say, cropped up. Can real love exist between married folk? Poser. Though it was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her with affection, carried away by a wave of folly. A magnificent specimen of manhood he was truly augmented by gifts of a high order, as compared with the other military supernumerary that is which she of course, woman, quickly perceived as likely to carve his way to fame which he almost did till the priests and the evicted tenants in the rural parts of the country very effectually cooked his goose. Looking back now in a retrospective kind of arrangement all seemed a kind of dream. And then coming back was the worst thing you ever did because it went without saying you would feel out of place as things always moved with the times. Why, as he reflected, Irishtown strand, a locality he had not been in for quite a number of years looked different somehow since, as it happened, he went to live on the north side. North or south, however, it was a case of hot passion, pure and simple, and just bore out what he was saying as she also was Spanish or half so, types that wouldn't do things by halves, passionate abandon of the south, casting every shred of decency to the winds.

— Just bears out what I was saying, he, with glowing bosom said to Stephen, about blood and the sun. And if I don't greatly mistake she was Spanish too.

— The King of Spain's daughter, Stephen answered.

— Was she? Bloom said, surprised though not astonished by any means, I never heard that rumour |2before2|.

Possible, especially there, it was, as she lived there. So, Spain, carefully avoiding a book in his pocket Sweets of he took out his pocketbook and, turning over the
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contents it contained rapidly finally he.

— Do you consider, by the by, he said, thoughtfully selecting a faded photo which he laid on the table, that a Spanish type.

Stephen, obviously addressed, looked down on the photo showing a large sized lady with her charms on evidence in an open fashion as she was in the |2full2| bloom of womanhood in evening dress cut low to give a liberal display of bosom, with more than visions of breasts, her full lips parted and some perfect teeth, standing near, ostensibly with gravity, a piano on the rest of which was In Old Madrid, a ballad, pretty in its way, which was then all the vogue. Her (the lady's) eyes, dark, large, looked at Stephen, about to smile about something to be admired, Lafayette and Son, Dublin.

— My wife, Bloom indicated. Taken a few years since. In or about ninety six. Very like her then.

Beside the young man he looked also of the photo of the lady now his wife. As for the face it was a speaking likeness in expression but it did not do justice to her figure which did not come out to the best advantage in that get up. She could without difficulty, he said, have posed for the ensemble, not to dwell on certain opulent curves of the. He dwelt on general development (of females) because, as it happened, no later than that afternoon he had seen those Grecian statues, perfectly developed, in the National Museumº. Marble could give the original, shoulders, back, all the symmetry, all the rest. Yes, puritanisme, it does though Saint Joseph's sovereign unread alors (Bandez!) unread trop.