(Turns the drumhandle.) There.
(She drops two pennies in the slot. Gold, pink and violet lights start forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.
Professor Goodwin, in a bowknotted periwig, in court dress, wearing a stained Inverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, his hands fluttering. He sits tinily on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, his bowknot bobbing)" (U15.4014)
(twirls round herself, heeltapping) Dance. Anybody here for there? Who'll dance? Clear the table.
(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl." (U15.4023)
The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levinstone's. Fancy dress balls arranged. Deportment. The Katty Lanner step. So. Watch me! My terpsichorean abilities. (He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet.) Tout le monde an avant! Reverence! Tout le monde en place!
(The prelude ceases. Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his live cape filling about the waltz time sounds. Stephen and Zoe circle freely. The lights change, glow, fade gold rosy violet.)
Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls,
Sweethearts they'd left behind ......" (U15.4041)
(clipclaps glovesilent hands) Carré! Avant deux! Breathe evenly! Balancé!" (U15.4056)
You may touch my.
May I touch your?
O, but lightly!
O, so lightly!" (U15.4061)
My little shy little lass has a waist.
(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the landbreeze.)
Avant huit! Traversé! Salut! Cours de mains! Croisé!
(The night hours, one by one, steal to the last place. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them. They are masked, with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells. Weary they curchycurchy under veils.)" (U15.4073)
Les tiroirs! Chaîne de dames! La corbeille! Dos à dos!
(Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling.)
(She frees herself, droops on a chair. Stephen seizes Florry and turns with her.)" (U15.4089)
Boulangère! Les ronds! Les ponts! Chevaux de bois! Escargots!
(Twining, receding, with interchanging hands the night hours link each each with arching arms in a mosaic of movements. Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.)
Dansez avec vos dames! Changez de dames! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Remerciez!
Best, best of all,
(jumps up) O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar!
(She runs to Stephen. He leaves Florry brusquely and seizes Kitty. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room right roundabout the room.)
My girl's a Yorkshire girl.
Yorkshire through and through. Come on all!
(She seizes Florry and waltzes her.)
(He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his ashplant from the table and takes the floor." (U15.4108)
Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.)
Though she's a factory lass
And wears no fancy clothes.
(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by. Baraabum!)
Encore! Bis! Bravo! Encore!
Think of your mother's people!"
Dance of death.
(Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through. Baraabum! On nags, hogs, bellhorses, Gadarene swine, Corny in coffin. Steel shark stone onehandled Nelson," (U15.4139)