From the saloon a call came, long in dying. That was a tuningfork the tuner had that he forgot that he now struck. A call again. That he now poised that it now throbbed. You hear? It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Longer in dying call.
Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle: and over tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle ere he went he whispered, bald and bothered, with Miss Douce.
- The bright stars fade...
A voiceless song sang from within, singing:
- ...the morn is breaking." (U11.312)
- The dewdrops pearl...
Lenehan's lips over the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy.
- But look this way, he said, rose of Castile." (U11.324)
The Jaunting Car was a popular mode of transportation in 19c. Dublin. There are several songs celebrating 'The Irish Jaunting Car' such as reproduced on this PC. The oldest I came across was written in the 1850s by the American entertainer Valentine Vousden; its tune was later borrowed for the Confederate song 'Bonnie Blue Flag;' it is listed in 'Beadle's Dime Song Book' from 1860.
- Did she fall or was she pushed? he asked her." (U11.331)
- Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.
Like lady, ladylike.
Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor where he strode. Yes, gold from anear by bronze from afar. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him:" (U11.334)
Between the car and window, warily walking, went Bloom, unconquered hero. See me he might. The seat he sat on: warm. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting.
— And I from thee ....
— I heard you were round, said Blazes Boylan." (U11.340)
- What's your cry? Glass of bitter? Glass of bitter, please, and a sloegin for me. Wire in yet?
Not yet. At four he. All said four.
Cowley's red lugs and bulging apple in the door of the sheriff's office. Avoid. Goulding a chance. What is he doing in the Ormond? Car waiting. Wait." (U11.349)
— O! O! jerked Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. O!
But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph.
— Why don't you grow? asked Blazes Boylan." (U11.360)
- Fine goods in small parcels.
That is to say she. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe.
- Here's fortune, Blazes said.
He pitched a broad coin down. Coin rang." (U11.365)
- Fortune, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale.
- Sceptre will win in a canter, he said.
- I plunged a bit, said Boylan winking and drinking. Not on my own, you know. Fancy of a friend of mine." (U11.372)