"Out of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom.)
(their leaves whispering) Sister. Our sister. Ssh!
(softly) Mortal! (kindly) Nay, dost not weepest!
(crawls jellily forward under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with dignity) This position. I felt it was expected of me. Force of habit."