"(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'Brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah, Alleluia for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the organ by Joseph Glynn. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)


Talk away till you're black in the face."


(In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in the band, dusty brogues, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his hand,"

"leading a black bogoak pig by a sugaun, with a smile in his eye.)"

"Let me be going now, woman of the house, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a bating.(with a tear in his eye) All insanity. Patriotism, sorrow for the dead, music, future of the race. To be or not to be. Life's dream is o'er. End it peacefully. They can live on. (he gazes far away mournfully) I am ruined. A few pastilles of aconite. The blinds drawn. A letter. Then lie back to rest. (he breathes softly) No more. I have lived. Fare. Farewell.


(stiffly, her finger in her neckfillet) Honest? Till the next time. (she sneers) Suppose you got up the wrong side of the bed or came too quick with your best girl."

"O, I can read your thoughts!


(bitterly) Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and bottle. I'm sick of it. Let everything rip.


(in sudden sulks) I hate a rotter that's insincere. Give a bleeding whore a chance."


(repentantly) I am very disagreeable. You are a necessary evil. Where are you from? London?"


(Glibly.) Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs. I'm Yorkshire born. (She holds his hand which is feeling for her nipple.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. Stop that and begin worse. Have you cash for a short time? Ten shillings?


(Smiles, nods slowly.) More, houri, more."


And more's mother? (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola? Come and I'll peel off.


(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the unparalleled embarrassment of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her peeled pears.)"

"Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. The greeneyed monster. (Earnestly.) You know how difficult it is. I needn't tell you."


(Flattered.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for. (She pats him.) Come.


Laughing witch! The hand that rocks the cradle.




(In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with a caul of dark hair, fixes big eyes on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a chubby finger, his moist tongue lolling and lisping.) One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone."


Love me. Love me not. Love me."


Silent means consent. (With little parted talons she captures his hand, her forefinger giving to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to doom.) Hot hands cold gizzard."

"(He hesitates amid scents, music, temptations. She leads him towards the steps, drawing him by the odour of her armpits, the vice of her painted eyes,"

"the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all the male brutes that have possessed her.)"


(Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their drugged heads swaying to and fro.) Good!
(Zoe and Bloom reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hasty bow. He trips awkwardly.)


(her lucky hand instantly saving him) Hoopsa! Don't fall upstairs.


The just man falls seven times. (he stands aside at the threshold) After you is good manners."


Ladies first, gentlemen after.

(She crosses the threshold. He hesitates. She turns and, holding out her hands, draws him over. He hops. On the antlered rack of the hall hang a man's hat and waterproof. Bloom uncovers himself but, seeing them, frowns, then smiles, preoccupied. A door on the return landing is flung open."

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