Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the other ducky little tammy toque with the bird of paradise wing in it that I admired on you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was a pity to kill it, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a thing with a heart the size of a fullstop.
(Squeezes his arm, simpers.) Naughty cruel I was!" (U15.553)
(low, secretly, ever more rapidly) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Frankly, though she had her advisers or admirers, I never cared much for her style. She was....
Yes. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across ....
(eagerly) Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
(She fades from his side. Followed by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates." (U15.563)
(Crouches, his voice twisted in his snout.) And when Cairns came down from the scaffolding in Beaver Street what was he after doing it into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.
(guffaw with cleft palates) O jays!
(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Spattered with size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him.)
Coincidence too. They think it funny. Anything but that. Broad daylight. Trying to walk. Lucky no woman.
Jays, that's a good one. Glauber salts. O jays, into the men's porter." (U15.578)
Are you going far, queer fellow?
How's your middle leg?
Got a match on you?
Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you." (U15.599)
(Belching.) Where's the bloody house?
Purdon street. Shilling a bottle of stout. Respectable woman." (U15.604)
(Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward with them.)
Come on, you British army!
(Behind his back.) He aint half balmy.
(Laughs.) What ho!" (U15.613)
(To the navvy.) Portobello barracks canteen. You ask for Carr. Just Carr.
We are the boys. Of Wexford." (U15.620)
Wildgoose chase this. Disorderly houses. Lord knows where they are gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene at Westland row." (U15.633)
Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin.
My spine's a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get all pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of money. One and eightpence too much. (The retriever drives a cold snivelling muzzle against his hand, wagging his tail.) Strange how they take to me. Even that brute today." (U15.652)
(With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide." (U15.660)