- Have you a cheese sandwich?
- Yes, sir.
Like a few olives too if they had them. Italian I prefer. Good glass of burgundy: take away that. Lubricate. A nice salad, cool as a cucumber. Tom Kernan can dress. Puts gusto into it. Pure olive oil. Milly served me that cutlet with a sprig of parsley. Take one Spanish onion. God made food, the devil the cooks. Devilled crab." (U8.755)
- Quite well, thanks... A cheese sandwich, then. Gorgonzola, have you?
- Yes, sir." (U8.763)
- Doing any singing those times?
Look at his mouth. Could whistle in his own ear. Flap ears to match. Music. Knows as much about it as my coachman. Still better tell him. Does no harm. Free ad.
- She's engaged for a big tour end of this month. You may have heard perhaps.
- No. O, that's the style. Who's getting it up?" (U8.766)
A little coachman from Belfast...
- How much is that?
- Seven d, sir... Thank you, sir.
Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips. Mr MacTrigger. Easier than the dreamy creamy stuff. His five hundred wives. Had the time of their lives." (U8.774)
His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, yearned more longly, longingly.
Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. Flea having a good square meal.
- He had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, over that boxing match Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the Portobello barracks. By God, he had the little kipper down in the county Carlow he was telling me... " (U8.798)
- And here's himself and pepper on him, Nosey Flynn said." (U8.809)
[NB: this is not Davy Byrne]
- I'm off that, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne answered. I never put anything on a horse.
- You're right there, Nosey Flynn said. " (U8.813)
Nice quiet bar. Nice piece of wood in that counter. Nicely planed. Like the way it curves there." (U8.819)
In this Christian PC, the 'races' listed at the bookie's window are titled Lost Hope, Desperation, Theft and Suicide.
- True for you, Nosey Flynn said. Unless you're in the know. There's no straight sport going now. Lenehan gets some good ones. He's giving Sceptre today." (U8.826)
Herbert Mornington Cannon (1873 - 1962). He was the son of famous jockey Thomas Cannon. On the day he was born, May 21st 1873, his father had ridden the colt Mornington to victory at Bath, and gave the horse's name to his son. Morny was only 13 when he rode his first winner, becoming a leading jockey and Champion 6 times.
- That so? Davy Byrne said.
He went towards the window and, taking up the petty cash book, scanned its pages.
- I could, faith, Nosey Flynn said snuffling. That was a rare bit of horseflesh. Saint Frusquin was her sire. She won in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with wadding in her ears. Blue jacket and yellow cap." (U8.831)