"Open. Money. Please take one. Devils if they lose sixpence. Raise Cain. Husband barging. Where's the ten shillings I gave you on Monday? Are you feeding your little brother's family? Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle. Pastille that was fell. What is she...?" (U8.241)
"— There must be a new moon out, she said. He's always bad then. Do you know what he did last night?
Her hand ceased to rummage. Her eyes fixed themselves on him, wide in alarm, yet smiling.
— What? Mr Bloom asked.
Let her speak. Look straight in her eyes. I believe you. Trust me." (U8.
"- Woke me up in the night, she said. Dream he had, a nightmare.
Indiges.
- Said the ace of spades was walking up the stairs." (U8.251)

On this period PC of the Language of Cards, the ace of spades means 'Beware!'
"- The ace of spades! Mr Bloom said.
She took a folded postcard from her handbag.
- Read that, she said. He got it this morning." (U8.254)
"-What is it? Mr Bloom asked, taking the card. U.P.?
- U.P: up, she said.
- Indeed it is, Mr Bloom said.
She took back the card, sighing.
- And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. He's going to take an action for ten thousand pounds, he says.
She folded the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch." (U8.257)

I was very amused when I received this letter from Argentina!
"Same blues erge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching. Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it." (U8.265)
"Shabby genteel. She used to be a tasty dresser." (U8.267)
"Lines round her mouth. Only a year or so older than Molly.
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex." (U8.268)
"He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent. Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too. Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck to her cheek." (U8.270)
"Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior. Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago, Dolphin's Barn, the charades. U.p: up. Change the subject.
— Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.
— Mina Purefoy? she said.
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' Club. Matcham often thinks of the masterstroke." (U8.273)
"Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.
- Yes." (U8.279)
"- I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's three days bad now.
- O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that.
- Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very stiff birth, the nurse told me.
- O, Mr Bloom said." (U8.281)
"His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. His tongue clacked in compassion. Dth! Dth!
- I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's terrible for her.
Mrs Breen nodded.
- She was taken bad on the Tuesday...
Mr Bloom touched her funnybone gently, warning her:
- Mind! Let this man pass." (U8.287)
"A bony form strode along the curbstone from the river staring with a rapt gaze into the sunlight through a heavystringed glass. Tight as a skullpiece a tiny hat gripped his head. From his arm a folded dustcoat, a stick and an umbrella dangled to his stride.
- Watch him, Mr Bloom said. He always walks outside the lampposts.
Watch!
- Who is he if it's a fair question? Mrs Breen asked. Is he dotty?
- His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said smiling. Watch!
- He has enough of them, she said. Denis will be like that one of these days.
She broke off suddenly.
- There he is, she said. I must go after him. Goodbye. Remember me to Molly, won't you?
- I will, Mr Bloom said." (U8.295)
"He watched her dodge through passers towards the shopfronts. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of Harrison's hugging two heavy tomes to his ribs. Blown in from the bay. Like old times. He suffered her to overtake him without surprise and thrust his dull grey beard towards her, his loose jaw wagging as he spoke earnestly.
Meshuggah. Off his chump." (U8.309)
"Mr Bloom walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the dangling stickumbrelladustcoat. Going the two days. Watch him! Out he goes again. One way of getting on in the world. And that other old mosey lunatic in those duds. Hard time she must have with him.
U. p: up. I'll take my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. Wrote it for a lark in the Scotch house I bet anything. Round to Menton's office. His oyster eyes staring at the postcard. Be a feast for the gods." (U8.315)
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