Fish and taters. N. g. Ah!"
"(He disappears into Olhausen's, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter. A few moments later he emerges from under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. In each hand he holds a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the other a cold sheep's trotter sprinkled with wholepepper."
"He gasps, standing upright. Then bending to one side he presses a parcel against his ribs and groans.)
Stitch in my side. Why did I run?
(He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the lampset siding. The glow leaps again.)"
What is that? A flasher? Searchlight.
(He stands at Cormack's corner, watching.)
Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? Ah, the brigade, of course. South side anyhow. Big blaze. Might be his house. Beggar's bush. We're safe." (U15.166)
"(he hums cheerfully.) London's burning, London's burning! On fire, on fire! (He catches sight of the navvy lurching through the crowd at the farther side of Talbot street.) I'll miss him."
"Run. Quick. Better cross here."
"(He darts to cross the road. Urchins shout.)
Mind out, mister!"
"(Two cyclists, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, grazing him, their bells rattling.)
(halts erect, stung by a spasm) Ow!
(He looks round, darts forward suddenly."
"Through rising fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the wire.
The motorman bangs his footgong.)"
Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo."
"(The brake cracks violently. Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, blunders stifflegged out of the track. The motorman, thrown forward, pugnosed, on the guidewheel, yells as he slides past over chains and keys.)"
Hey, shitbreeches, are you doing the hat trick?
(Bloom trickleaps to the curbstone and halts again. He brushes a mudflake from his cheek with a parcelled hand.)
No thoroughfare. Close shave that but cured the stitch."
"Must take up Sandow's exercises again. On the hands down. Insure against street accident too. The Providential. (he feels his trouser pocket)" (U15.199)
An ad for Sandow's Exercises, and their multiple health benefits, in Pearson's Magazine.
"Poor mamma's panacea. Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a cog. Day the wheel of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. Third time is the charm. Shoe trick. Insolent driver. I ought to report him. Tension makes them nervous. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Same style of beauty. Quick of him all the same. The stiff walk. True word spoken in jest. That awful cramp in Lad lane. Something poisonous I ate. Emblem of luck. Why? Probably lost cattle. Mark of the beast. (he closes his eyes an instant) Bit light in the head. Monthly or effect of the other. Brainfogfag. That tired feeling. Too much for me now. Ow!"
"(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against O'Beirne's wall, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)
Bueñas noches, señorita Blanca. Que calle es esta?
(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Password. Sraid Mabbot.
Haha. Merci. Esperanto. Slan leath. (he mutters) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater."
"(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He steps left, ragsackman left.)
(He leaps right, sackragman right.)
(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on.)" (U15.228)