Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. Madam Tweedy is in her bath, sir."


(laughing) Ho ho ho ho."

(U 15.3785

(To Bloom, over his shoulder.) You can apply your eye to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few times."


Thank you, sir. I will, sir. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot? (he holds out an ointment jar) Vaseline, sir? Orangeflower...? Lukewarm water...?"


(From the sofa.) Tell us, Florry. Tell us. What...

(Florry whispers to her. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)"


(Her eyes upturned.) O, it must be like the scent of geraniums!"

"and lovely peaches!"

"O, he simply idolises every bit of her! Stuck together! Covered with kisses!


(her mouth opening) Yumyum "

"O, he's carrying her round the room doing it! Ride a cock horse. You could hear them in Paris and New York. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.


(Laughing.) Hee hee hee.


(Sweetly, hoarsely, in the pit of his stomach.) Ah! Godblazeqrukbrukarchkhrasht!


(Hoarsely, sweetly, rising to her throat.) O! Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?


(his eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself) Show! Hide! Show! Plough her! More! Shoot!"


Ho ho! Ha ha! Hee hee!


(points) The mirror up to nature. (he laughs) Hu hu hu hu hu!

(Stephen and Bloom gaze in the mirror. The face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis,"

"crowned by the reflection of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hall."


(In dignified ventriloquy.) 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind. (To Bloom.) Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Gaze. (He crows with a black capon's laugh.) Iagogo! How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. Iagogogo!


(smiles yellowly at the three whores) When will I hear the joke?


Before you're twice married and once a widower."


Lapses are condoned. Even the great Napoleon"

"when measurements were taken near the skin after his death..."

"(Mrs Dignam, widow woman, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her weeds, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets. Beneath her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and turnedup boots, large eights."

"She holds a Scottish Widows' insurance policy and a large marquee umbrella under which her brood run with her,"

Circe Pages: