#It doesn’t even have to be with Geo just make him queer
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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
Y’all don’t understand- I saw the spoilers and I’m hanging onto every last hope that LEGO canonizes this despite what was (probably) confirmed in the captions. Cole being queer is actually so important tho. It makes so much sense for his character. Man’s popped up on screen in 2011 and has been covered in rainbows ever since. I could write an essay on the obvious queercoding of his character since season 1, and with Geo, it’s one agonizing step closer to switching from subtext to text. This would be a bigger step for LEGO than having queer background characters or pride stickers, but it would mean so much to its queer audience. And, again, it fits Cole, especially with his current relationship with Geo.
Please LEGO just do it, it’d be so easy, just one kiss or one scene. PLEASE.
#ninjago#dragons rising season 2 spoilers#ninjago dr#cole brookstone#gay cole#ninjago dr s2 rant#Seriously LEGO are cowards if they don’t make it official soon#This your chance to redeem yourself Ninjago! Pls!!#Let Cole out of the closet#It doesn’t even have to be with Geo just make him queer#And yes I am very much struggling after the reveal#Like? Maybe Sora transitions to male and that’s Wyldfire’s bf?#Maybe Cole doesn’t count bc Geo is ALREADY his bf/husband?#Maybe the subtitles were wrong or they are trolling us?#Idk so many loopholes 😭 grasping for straws here guys
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I can’t even
Some fucker changed it because ‘oh no Ninjago can’t possibly have a gay relationship’ even though there’s evidence in the SHOW and not to mention several ppl working on the show support these 2 as a ship.
And don’t tell me that ‘they’re just trying to make sure the information is factual’ cus on that same exact page they have Nya listed as one of Cole’s former love interest even though it’s been confirmed by Tommy Andersen that Cole never liked Nya romantically and that he was just confused at the sudden attention she was giving him.
But of course some homophobe probably got upset at seeing Geo being a possible love interest for Cole. I sometimes cannot with this wiki, like you have your canon straight ships, you got Jaya, Kailor, Pixane, Llokita just let us have this one gay ship be canon. It’s not going to ruin Cole’s character if he ends up in a romantic relationship with Geo. When Kai and Skylor got together did that suddenly ruin Kai’s personality? No and it would be the same for Cole.
It’s honestly tiring having to fight for queer representation in Ninjago and it doesn’t make it easier having homophobes trying to bash anyone who supports a queer ship or headcanons a character as queer in this fandom.
Also while on topic I actually hate how ppl will try to use Vania as an excuse to be homophobic. Like when a homophobe goes on about how ‘Cole isn’t gay’ they’ll always bring up Vania (and Nya at times too) like it’s been confirmed that Cole and Vania are just friends yet people still treat the ship as canon (u can totally ship them if u want btw) and use Vania as an excuse to homophobic. Like don’t you dare bring my girl into this
I’m honestly disappointed in the ninjago wiki, I thought people there would be more open to the idea of Cole and Geo being a canon couple. But I guess that’s just wishful thinking.
#But seriously I’m kinda pissed#You get all your straight ships and the second we get evidence of a queer one ppl try to silence it#If u can write ‘former love interest’ for Nya then u can damn well write ‘possible love interest’ for Geo#Anyways rant is over#I feeling like drawing a bunch of Lostshipping art and sending it the wiki non stop#lostshipping#Ninjago#ninjago dragons rising#mittens rants#Cole x geo#geodeshipping
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I mean that sounds like a plausible take, I guess — I don’t have enough knowledge of the context or history to know which of the things Jesus said were original. I think the proto-communism/communalism of Acts is pretty cool. I honestly kind of enjoy Jesus being a sarcastic asshole mostly because the evangelical context I grew up in was basically unaware of sarcasm & the contrast between the golden serious idea of Jesus & him calling Simon-Peter as dumb as a rock is pretty funny to me. Makes me a little reflective in this moment because I typically don’t care for that approach to philosophy, particularly ethical/relational philosophy, & I never liked Socrates’s stupid smug jokes at the expense of others.
Most of my attachment to Jesus is as a cultural figure, particularly in the ways queer Christians & liberation theologians have interpreted him. I can’t get away from my own cultural Christianity, and I usually characterize the distance I do want to maintain from mainstream American Christianity by saying that I like what Jesus had to say but I don’t care for the idea that he was any more the son of god than any of us are. Maybe even that isn’t really true though — I’m only passingly familiar with accounts of Jesus himself, and most of the bits I’ve read in the Bible and really mulled over are in Ecclesiastes or Song of Solomon.
Might be time to reassess. I love the idea of portraying Jesus in a contemporary setting as an asshole street preacher predicting the apocalypse and easily dismissed by most people. People who predict the apocalypse are rarely 100% wrong — there’s always a major disaster right around the corner. I just think — if someone has divine abilities, that doesn’t make their words any more credible. It’s like saying that because someone can do magic, they’re definitely also psychic. Or because someone is a genius scientist, they can definitely solve geo-political problems. People do jump to those kinds of conclusions, but they don’t naturally follow, and I’m mistrustful of any logic that links them intrinsically.
I don’t think I’m ready to let go of the progressive Jesus headcanons entirely, because as an aspiring storyteller I think they can be evocative & persuasive & I want to meet people where they’re at, but I guess I need to stop conflating them with the historical or strictly biblical Jesus, which I think I’ve done because of how much the reactionary Jesus headcanons are conflated with those 2 distinct entities. It’s politically charged, disputed territory. I don’t want to cede that ground because I think it’s equally valid to create an image of Jesus as a communist & minority community organizer as it is to create an image of him as a reactionary capitalist enforcing punishment for crimes of survival & sexual difference. Both ideas are projecting a lot of modern constructs onto him & neither of them really work with the source texts gracefully.
I guess what I’m discovering here is that I am in favor of a multitude of inaccurate Jesuses totally divorced from historical context, and also I am curious about the historical context because it informs those inaccurate Jesuses and can make them feel more believable. Not sure how I feel about that. Not sure how you feel about that!
My friend @apenitentialprayer (who you should be following if you're interested in Catholicism) asked me to expand on my belief that Genesis 3 is an etiological myth for puberty. The following understanding is emphatically not my own, but it comes from my rabbi and I'm not sure whether he published it so I don't have a citation.
Anyway, the basic argument is that we should read the phrase "knowledge of good and bad" (הדעת טוב ורע) ha-da'at tov v'ra (Genesis 2:17) in parallel with "[he] learns to reject the bad and choose good" (לדעתו מאוס ברע ובחור בטוב) l'dato ma'os bara u'vahol batov (Isaiah 7:15). In Isaiah, learning the difference between good and bad (more literally knowing the difference; da'at in Gen 2:17 has the same root as dato in Is 7:15 (dato is a conjugation of yada)) is a metaphor for maturing. If we read the phrase "knowledge of good and bad" in Genesis 2 in the same way, then we can reasonably infer that the consequence of eating the fruit of the Tree is maturation as such rather than the acquisition of forbidden knowledge.
So, what happens when we do that? Human beings in the Garden of Eden have two things in common with God: immortality and the image in which they are made. When they eat from the Tree they gain "knowledge of good and bad" which we've inferred means aging and (specifically) going through puberty. After puberty humans acquire a third divine characteristic: the ability to create life.
The curses that follow for the man and woman then describe the inevitable consequences that they will face by going from childhood and adulthood. The woman will carry babies and have pain in giving birth. She will desire (תשוקה) t'shukah (the verb is used for non-sexual desire in Gen 4:7 and for sexual desire in Song 7:11) her husband. The man will have to labor to bring for the food previously provided by his Parent (i.e. God). And of course both will die (which does happen to children, but is not an inevitable part of childhood the way it is for adulthood).
(Note that the interpretation that the Serpent is Satan comes from later Christian eisegesis is not actually a part of the myth as presented in Genesis 3.)
#jesus#religion#christianity#not sure how to tag#jesus interpretations#jesus headcanons#anyway gay communist alien jesus ftw#jesus has never been my go to for moral teachings#it’s just that he said a few things that make some amount of sense to me#& I’m not too mad about anything he said that I know about except maybe the thoughtcrime
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Beatles: Tops or Bottoms?
⚠ this is an opinion post. you are welcome to tell me your own opinion as long as we know that there is no ‘true’ objective answer ⚠
Slight tldr: top and bottom doesn’t matter that much, and certain doesn’t imply submissive or dominate, and thus and I totally cool with writing and reading them all as switches / verses.
also most of these hc are for their characters, personality and experiences for when I write them, generally before 1965. later arcs are to be considered but not explicitly discussed.
I tend to lean Paul as a top because he's bossy, take charge and commanding. We also know (like the statistics say) that people that are bossy or in charge in their daily life (especially if they need to be so in their professional life) tend to enjoy role-playing the submissive the most. However I in the 21st century know submissive =/= bottom, so then it's just a question of if you think Paul raised in the 50s would project in this way. Which is why I can read or write him as either with little problem. If its a sub/dom scene then maybe it makes sense for him to bottom, if its a first time especially with a another first timer (both people engaging in the sex are not use to queer relations) then topping makes sense. if its an AU where he wasn't in the 50s (like my godling AU) then maybe he could bottom, and so on etc with different scenarios
for john; you see what i wrote about being outwardly the boss leans to more submission during sex? I think that is 100% John, and so i tend to write him as submissive (and hiding it), and sublimating that desire in traditionally feminine acts like crossdressing, feminizing dirty talk, and thus to bottoming. [I do not think femininity = submissive, only that a raised in the 50s man would have that implication, and this lets be clear, this was a time before pegging (which isn’t even that big nowadays) and so receiving / bottoming was associated with femininity] yet he can also be too afraid to show this 'true' side, hence the topping
I see George as confident and comfortable in his own skin and uninterested in taking shit from anyone. This means he lives his true live without the hang ups that I associate with paul or john, and thus sees that topping or bottoming say nothing about his masculinity, or his character and is a true switch more than an emotional one. (ie he really doesn't care, while John and Paul do care if they top or bottom while doing either)
Because of the feral / soft dynamic of Ringo discussed previously* and giving / receiving care from the others (the last member but the eldest, they've known him the shortest amount of time which means they have less baggage but also less of an established relationship, etc), I also think of Ringo as a switch. But I think it depends who he is with. He has little enough of an ego that he lets Paul top, is open and interested in social expectations with Geo that they switch, can give John the domination he craves and thus tops him.
hence why i think all could be switches, but also why or what dynamics would have them lean one way or another.
also just because we 'know' that submissive =/= bottom isn't true doesn't mean we can't play it up for fun / kinky reasons. its like how a character with gloves (in visual media) is to show that they are distant or hiding themselves doesn't mean i think this is true for real people i meet walking down that street that wear gloves. same with top/bottoming, just because its not real doesn't mean i cant use it for my narrative fictional storytelling purposes. (I do understand that this, in a woman mostly space, so filled with impressionable teenagers, can be dangerous and have harmful effects and perpetuate negative stereotypes. This is why I personally do very little of it, and basically only have it in a/b/o where top and bottom are linked to a sub/dom relationship. But I also realise people have free speech, and just because I wouldn’t do it, doesn’t mean no one will, and I just think they should be aware of the possible consequences of their actions.)
* I am often torn between Ringo having a feral or a soft side, and somehow find a way to write him as both depending when they are during the sex ie how close is he to climax or if there was edging etc. ['Feral' to act animalistic, primal or brutish. Think like alphas in a/b/o fics. Possessive, tending to bite, calling their partner 'mine,' wanting to claim them. 'Soft' to act tender, sweet, thoughtful, and considerate. Being attentive to their partner, soft kisses, gentle actions, and loving endearments.]
#beatles#john lennon#paul mccartney#george harrison#ringo starr#beatles fanfiction#let me know if you want a queen one
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Blisters On His Fingers - Chapter 2 - “First Date, If John Doesn’t Ruin it”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4.3k
Chapters: 2/25
Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, Minor Paul McCartney/John Lennon
Plot Summery: George can't help but watch Rory Storm and The Hurricanes play, but John and Paul know he just has his eyes for their drummer. Ringo has some problem with his hands, and George may just see his perfect opportunity to talk to the handsome drummer. (Hamburg Beatle Era)
Note: It’s herE! Here’s a litlle something, as a early Christmas gift! Multi Chapter Hamburg Starrison Fic? you bet! @cirilee and I worked very hard on research and planning for the fic and I’m so happy to finaLLY released the first continuation chapter (Thank you sOOO much Ciri! ily ::o::)
Read Chapter 1 Here
Inhaling the stale air in the Bambi Kino cinema was probably the worst thing to wake up to since arriving in Hamburg, but after last night, George barely even noticed. Peeking his eyes open, he adjusted to the artificial light in the damp cement block they called a room. He felt as light as air… George had kissed him. Ringo Starr, George Harrison kissed Ringo Starr.
It’s a wonder George had gotten any sleep at all after that. He remembers staring up at the pitch black ceiling for hours last night and just looking at his smile, the smoothness of his cheek and scruff of his jaw… reliving that moment when he just fucking went for it.
George let out a pleased sigh and stretched his arms above his head.
After a moment he turned over to the bed opposite his only to be faced with two snickering bastards staring back at him. Of-fucking-course, can’t have one single moment of peace can I?
“Sleep alright’ there princess?” John smirked taking a drag from his ciggy.
George groaned. No, not even John could ruin this morning for him.
“Shut up Lennon, and give me drag huh?” He reached toward the nightstand table for the cigarettes, but Paul swooped in all to quick before George could take a blow.
“What the-”
“You can have a ciggy after you tell us the details. So spill.” Paul smirked and scooted beside John, taking advantage of his leverage.
“Details? I- what do you want to know? How do you know anything happened?” George stammered, he thought it would be easy to burst out and tell his best mates what happened, but his nerves seemed to get the best of him.
Paul scoffed. “Well for starters, you woke up in this shithole with that dreamy smile on your face.”
George felt himself flush, gosh he was smiling pretty wide huh?
“Yea, and not to mention you coming home at fucking 4 in the mornin’.” John quipped while tapping his ashes off onto the floor, which Paul detested, but couldn’t really argue with considering how nasty the room already was.
“Well- I.. I’m sure you both enjoyed the alone time.” George teased, hoping to distract from himself a little longer. It held some truth, it was pretty hard living just the three in one room, even harder when he bunked with Pete. John and Paul rarely got to get cozy and the two of them were a committed item, which took awhile since John insisted he wasn’t “queer”. Course, he was over the moon for Paul the moment they met, which was pretty frustrating at first. George saw it, and he knows as soon as those two finally stopped being resisitent, they were all over each other.
John leaned back lazily and chuckled. “I wish! Sadly, Paul wouldn’t put out. The only tossin’ and turnin’ all he’d do was worry about you getting home, real mood killer you are Georgie boy-” Paul smacked a pillow into John’s face before he kept running his mouth.
“Piss off John! He’s distracting us! Come on’ George and tell us before John gets his teeth punched in will ya?”
George snickered at the display of Paul looking like an eager parent or older sibling, practically on the edge of his seat.
George fiddled a little with his hands, remembering how the night before he used these same ones to care for Ringo’s palms. How rough Ringo’s hands felt from years of drumming. George liked that much more than silky soft hands, it’s like every scar and callus could tell a story. He hoped Ringo would let him hold them again during their date- Ohfuck. THEIR DATE.
“Shit! My date! He asked me on a date!” George was standing now, throwing off his blanket and immediately going into a panic.
Ringostarraskedmeonadate! Howcould I forget thaT-
The lad was already rummaging hopelessly for clean clothes to wear to no avail. While John and Paul were both now standing probably trying to catch up on the bomb he just dropped into the room.
“You finally snagged a date with the Hurricane’s drummer?”
John was shocked like he couldn’t believe his ears.
George looked up from his pile of clothes and he knew he was unfolding, it couldn't be stopped now. “I- well I kissed im’ first, then he asked to see me tomorrow, so… yes?”
“Hold on! Wait- you’re telling me you kissed him and didn’t tell us? Just sat there like a smiling idiot knowing you kissed the lad we watched you pine over for months?” Paul was almost offended, all that waiting and George didn't tell him sooner?
“Listen!” George didn’t have time for questions, the stakes were much higher now “Yes! Yes okay? I kissed him, and now we have a date,TODAY, and i have no fucking idea when he gets here so if one of you could get off your asses and HELP ME PLEASE!”
George was losing his mind, he had no idea what to wear, how much time he had, what he was supposed to do- but of course, Paul did. “George, clean yourself up, and I’ll find you some clothes alright?”
“Yeah, and calm down too, don’t want to spook him looking like you just left a crack house.”
George looked over to the wall mirror, he did look frantic, definitely not first date with Ringo material. His eyes were wide, his hair was unruled, and he was nearly shaking. John had a point. This date was way too important, he can’t ruin it by being this nervous.
George just needed to get ready and hope that he doesn’t make a fool of himself.
Good luck with that.
_______________
Paul had George cleaned up real nice. Black drainies, and one of Paul’s clean white shirts tucked in made George cut a fine figure. Topped off with a large smooth pompadour. Very handsome and slim. Paul was very proud of the simple, yet refined appearance he made up for George’s date. He was a good looking lad all the same, and those fangs that pointed when he smiled had to be a deal breaker. Had he had more time (and spare cash), he almost wanted to go buy him a new fit to really shock Ringo. But- the look was still perfect in Paul’s opinion, but John was insistent he add his own little flare to the mix.
“Make you look tougher, like on stage.”
“He’s not going on stage John, he’s going on a date-”
“Yes, and he’s going to wear the damn jacket!” John argued. Draping a leather jacket on George’s shoulders. He took a much larger role in the getting ready process then was expected. He and Paul fussed left and right over how George needed to look, what shirt, how to wear it, what to say, make his hair messy or clean. Boots or loafers. Smile or brood. The two just couldn’t agree.
As per usual.
“George needs this date to go off without a hitch! Who knows? If they go steady, we might get a new drummer.” John winked.
Last week the lads had to get a replacement drummer to sit in after Pete hauled ass back to Liverpool for some kind of “family emergency”. John seems to think George’s date with Ringo could be an opportunity… Ringo was considered the best drummer as far as Liverpool was concerned, and despite George agreeing that Ringo was 20 times better than Pete, he didn’t like what John was implying. Paul seemed to catch onto it quicker than George was though.
“Oh no no NO, you’re not making George’s date about your little fued with Rory! That’s none of your business.” Paul chided, seeing through John’s casual tone. He knew that face and twinkle in his eyes. He was scheming, and John Lennon’s schemes never ended well.
“I’m just saying, you can’t date between competing bands. If Geo plays his cards right-”
George had heard enough, he wasn’t letting this crazy idea get to his head. He wanted to enjoy his date, not be John’s pon.
He was about to speak up when suddenly a loud knock at the back door silenced the whole room.
George looked at the door and felt his palms clam up. He shuffled his feet toward the handle. He thought he was going to pass out. This wasn’t even his first date, but it was his first with Ringo, and somehow that made it all the more important.
Another, more faint knock, hit the door, making George jump back slightly. Is that him? Is he here? Gosh if it’s not him-
“Don't just stand there! Open it.” Paul whispered, clearly waiting in anticipation.
When George gathered up his non existent courage and opened the door up, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor…
If he thought seeing Ringo up on stage, was in itself eye-catching, he was grossly unprepared for when he cleans up for a date.
Ringo was standing at the door, looking a bit flustered, but non the less pleased to see George. That smile. George thought he might lose his footing had he not been gripping the door frame. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He wanted to drape an arm around Ringo’s shoulders and admire how handsome he looked. He was stunning, he was sporting nice fitted charcoal trousers, with a white and black checker striped shirt tucked in. He even topped it off with a black corduroy jacket.
“Hmm... now that’s what I call boyfriend material.” Paul muttered behind George, who was also admiring Ringo’s attire.
George barely registered what Paul said until Ringo finally spoke.
“Gosh, I’m- speechless, you look real handsome George.” Ringo gaped while he shuffled his hands out of his pockets.
The two were both clearly nervous, and George just couldn’t even believe Ringo was really here. Last night had felt too much like a dream to be real, but… it was and he was here and-
“Whoa there Ringo! You got on this fancy get up for our little Geo?”
Fucking. Hell. John.
Ringo let out a nervous laugh “Suppose’ so, not too fancy I hope. Havn’t got too much money for a proper restaurant...” Ringo scratched the back of his neck. He seemed a little embarrassed, but George was pretty relieved. He wasn’t into fancy smacy places like that anyhow.
But- he was into getting out of here with Ringo as soon as possible before John kept talking. Which was the perfect incentive to push his nerves away for a bit.
“WELL- Guess will be going then! See ya fellas!” George was already walking down the steps and quickly leading Ringo away before those two ruined the date before it even starts.
“You better have him home at a respectable time young man!!!” John yelled out after them which made George cringe. Gosh those two I swear-
George ran a hand up his hair. “Sorry about them, they’re a piece of work.”
Ringo snickered, “Funny though, don’t worry, bet they pick on ya’ too much huh?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
George and Ringo were walking down Grosse Freiheit, opposite corner from the KaiserKeller where they worked and typically spent their time. George hadn’t explored much of this side of town, but it seemed Ringo knew where they were going, so he didn’t mind it.
It was nearly 3 in the afternoon, so most places had slow business. Once it neared about 5, that’s when most of the sailor, drunkards, and “fast women” slipped out for the nightlife. Despite the occasional peek of a prostitute in the day, most afternoons were strangely quiet considering this was a red light district.
When George arrived in Hamburg, the idea of living in such loose city, with so much sex and alcohol seemed exciting, but other than the advantage of drinking, George wasn’t too into the easy sex. John and Paul tried to set him up once, but he ended up horrified, having not been with a women and being pretty certain he was gay at that point. That only solidified it. He ended up sending her away, she didn’t seem to bothered by it. Probably just looked like a spooked young boy.
Paul stuck around to apologize about it. Make sure he was okay. If anything George was almost happy to know he didn’t fancy girls. John and Paul were always so defensive about it, but when George was having thoughts like that- it felt comforting to know his friends were the same way. That they could understand.
George saw Ringo veering toward the right. They must be close. The walkway was definitely in more uncharted territory, but- a little more secluded. Ringo reached out his hand suddenly, and George hesitated. Sure there wasn’t anyone around, and the area didn’t persecute lads holding hands, but- it was still out in public, and George didn’t quite feel comfortable for that just yet.
Ringo’s smile softened and he lowered his hand into his trouser pocket. “No worries Georgie, the place is right back here, follow me.”
George walked with Ringo down a narrow alleyway leading to a wooden doorway on the side of the building. Already regretting not taking Ringo’s hand, but certainly thankful Richie wasn’t offended by his apprehension.
A quick knock on the door, and it was soon opened up by another fellow. Clean looking boy with rosy cheeks and a slender chin, about Paul’s age or older maybe.
“Afternoon Richard, back again so soon?” The boy smiled, clearly pleased to see Richard here. Where- wherever they were. George felt his arms tense, hoping he wasn’t already feeling jealousy on the date that’s barely started. “Where’s your tall friend?” He continued, while giving George a disappointed side glare.
“Afternoon! Awe this isn’t much his scene really, he’s more interested in birds.” Ringo looked past the boy, and pointed over his shoulder to a booth past the bar-room.
“Mind if we have a seat over that way?” Before the boy could give answer Ringo was already sliding through the doorway with George in tow.
Now standing inside, George could really get a load of the place. It was definitely a bar, but why it was so hidden away was beyond him. It played great music out of some speakers, which seemed to be connected to the local radio. It was pretty full too, especially for this hour, but no one seemed to be very rowdy, mostly just dancing or a having a nice drink.
One thing that did catch Georges eye was the clientele. Every person inside was a bloke. Not a single girl in sight.
“Ringo? Is- is this a gay bar?”
Ringo stopped in front of the booth and looked back at George shyly.
“I- yes, it’s pretty classy, but I wasn’t sure, you know? If you’d been to one before.” George tilted his head, in all honesty he had never seen one before now. It just seemed like they were myths considering how well hidden they were. Not to mention John, Paul, and George never played in gar bars, or expressed interest in one before. Though, Ringo’s logic made sense, why not go to a place that’s guaranteed to be safe for a first date. Not having to watch your back if he wanted to hold Ringo’s hand or maybe share a kiss.
“I’m… I haven't, but I really like it here, seems like a perfect first date spot to me.” George smiled, sliding into the booth.
The date started out really great. Ringo was even more adorable on dates. He ordered them both some drinks and they sipped away talking. It felt like they spoke for hours on end. Ringo was so fun to talk to, he was cute and much more cheeky than expected. He had the cutest little blush when George decided to move over to Ringo’s side and sit beside him in the booth. Letting his shoulder graze next to each other.
The topic of how they ended up in Hamburg came up, and George talked about meeting John and Paul, and about how they let him join the band. The band that feels like his family, like he was always meant to be apart of them. He told Ringo stories and pranks they all pulled on each other, and about how he practically had to knock sense into them both about their feelings for each other.
“They were fighting like mad all the time. Mostly John, pushing Paul away n’stuff.”
Ringo listened attentively, “You could tell? That they were… pushing each other?”
“Definitely, those two were inseparable, and the way John looked at Paul and the way Paul looked at John- you knew. I knew for sure. John had hurt Paul real bad one day, said he didn’t need him around anymore. Paul was devastated. I had to talk with John and get it sorted out.”
“How’d that go?”
“Basically told him to get his shit together and tell Paul how he felt. Honestly, I’m surprised the bastard listened.” George laughed letting his little pointed teeth stick out a tad.
“So… how long have you known… you um.. fancied...” Ringo paused, trying to find the right words for the question, but George had a feeling he knew.
“A couple years now… I had a couple girlfriends back in Liverpool, but it never really took. I knew I fancied boys, but I didn’t know for sure if I fancied girls too or not. Nowadays, I know I’m gay, but I’ve-” George paused feeling embarrassment flush on his face. He almost wanted to end the conversation there, hoping Ringo wouldn't push him further, but the look in those blue eyes. The soft, sweet way Ringo listened and gazed back at George. Like he was savoring everything, every look and word George gave him.
George wasn’t afraid, no, not around Ringo.
“I-um… I haven’t had a boyfriend before.”
George felt his hand shake at his sides, feeling unsure… clearly Ringo had been around more often, he was older after all, and knew about gay bars, probably had a boyfriend once or twice too. George didn’t know this stuff, he’d only ever kissed a boy once and neither spoke about it after the fact. Would Ringo want some inexperienced lad who-
George felt a sudden warmth interlock with his shaking fingertips. He moved his gaze back to Ringo. He was holding onto his hands, rubbing his thumb over each knuckle. Smoothing the tremor that left the joint until they were steady and calm.
I might faint.
“Hey, neither have I okay? I’m still new to this too, but I know I like you George. A lot.”
George blinked wildly. Ringo was new to this?
Ringo could see George’s confusion considering their current place of establishment and chuckled. “I’ve known I am for awhile, me mum even had an idea about it when I was younger, she could just tell I never fancied girls, but finding fellas ain’t easy and not exactly safe. So no, I haven’t either. Did find this place with me mate Johnny though, but he’s just a best mate, doesn’t really swing that way.”
Somehow knowing dates and boyfriends were a bit of new territory for Ringo brought George lots of comfort. He could feel his shoulders slack under his jacket. He wanted to loosen up, really just enjoy the date. Show Ringo a good time.
Hurriedly, George stood up from the booth pulling Ringo up with him. The radio had several patrons out of their seats and swinging to a solid tune. A jazzy one, clearly hitting the backbeat like a rock n’ roller. George gave Ritchie a cocky grin and twisted his arm around giving Ringo a spin. George did little kicks and fancy moves with his feet, while Ringo showed off his funny little moves on the dance floor as well. Being honest, Ringo’s dances were outright ridiculous, but- in an endearing kind of way. He was silly and smiling so wide. Really enjoying himself when he danced with George and purposely tried to make him laugh with funky jumps and head shakes. George loved how funny Ringo was, the way he could just go along with things and make it 10 times better? The way his smile peeked out when those teddy boy curls bounced on his forehead, George was ready to spend the rest of the night like this. Giggling like school boys.
As it got later, the dancing got a little too crowded for both the boys’ taste, and they decided to step out for the night. The walk was much longer going back, probably because the two weren’t quite ready for the date to be over just yet.
“You really do look handsome this evening George.” Ringo remarked as they walked the chilly street back to the cinema.
George grinned with his cheeky fangs and bumped Ringo with his arm. “How bout’ a kiss then? Paul worked real hard to get me all dressed up like this. Got to have a little credit where credits due.” George leaned into the lads shoulder, batting his eyelashes for dramatic effect.
Ringo applauded the flirtation, clearly George was getting more comfortable. Very coy.
“Sorry, I don’t kiss vamps on the first date.”He quipped, poking the side of George’s cheek playfully.
Had this not been their first date George would have half a mind to marry Ringo on the spot. The way they bounced off each other so easily was unbelievable. The only fault was that the date was ending so soon. The streets here are just so complicated and… adult. Nothing simple, like burger joints or parks. George hated the idea of only being able to go out in the afternoons. Nightlife here was just so loud and indecent. “Gosh, maybe one of these days we can catch a bus out of here, go somewhere a little more normal.” George said gazing out ahead at countless street lights that dawned every corner.
Ringo’s eyes widened. “You want to go out again then?”
George felt his throat shrink. Oh fuck- You idiot. He was already daydreaming about the next date without even knowing if there was going to BE ONE.
“If- you wanted. I thought- I mean. This one seemed to be going really well, but if your not interested I completely-” stop rambling please oh god please stop.
“George!” George thanked Ringo internally for stopping him before he dug his grave even further.
“I’d love to go on another date with you.’
George thought he was going to say something, but his brain decided to go out of commission in that moment. Ringo didn’t seem to mind, the look on George’s face told him everything he needed to know. This was special. This thing between them, very special.
It was quiet on the streets surprisingly. Not a prostitute or drunk in sight near the back of the cinema. It was nearly 9:30, which was hopefully “respectable” for John, but George wasn’t ready for it to be over, not just yet.
George stopped before the steps to the door and turned to Ringo. His nerves that had been present throughout the evening had vanished, something about how he was feeling, the look in Ringo’s eyes. He felt like he was staring into the ocean. So welcoming, and vibrant. How could he stand here and not be utterly at peace?
Ringo soon moved surprisingly close him. George wasn’t sure what it meant at first, but to be fair, there were lots of things that George didn’t know.
He didn’t know his lovestruck crush would stand before him tonight and gingerly touch his cheek, or that he’d get so close they’d share a cold breath in a Hamburg alleyway. George would never have thought months ago, when he first met the boy, that he too would lean into the embrace. That George would get to wrap his arms around Ringo’s waist, slipping past his jacket and rest his palms on the small of the drummer’s back. He didn’t know that they’d glace down to those soft lips. Unconsciously waiting… for what? He wasn’t quite sure. Yes, he was.
Ringo’s hand gilded behind his neck. Stroking his thumb gently under George’s jaw. George felt a shiver go up his spine. Feeling his heart pounding like crazy. He wanted this. He really did. All night he dreamt of the event that occurred that night, about the feeling of kissing Ringo, the way his lips felt on his. He was so close to that again, only this time, he wanted Ringo to kiss him.
The drummer hesitated. They had kissed before, but the fervor in the air that filled the non existent space between them was thick. Both of the boys breaths were seen in the cold air as they exchanged them. Ringo lids fluttered, and George let his own shut. Darkness allowing every touch and caress to feel all the more real. Abruptly, a hand tugged the collar of his leather jacket slightly, and he was pulled into those lips again. Both bodies immediately reacting as the two shared an earnest kiss. Ringo taking control with impelling affection.
It was delightful but chaste, far too short for the guitarist’s liking. When they separated a moment, George barely gave Ringo time to catch his breath before pressing forward and allowing his tongue to slide past his lips. His fleeting impulse crashed into Ringo, and his hands clenched at the fabric of his striped shirt. Ringo responded with matched eagerness and the two were soon both kissing with more passion than they’d ever felt before. George even let a soft moan slide past his lips as he felt Ringo tangle his fingers further into his hair.
Neither wanted to stop, but George’s head was already getting dizzy and Ringo’s footing was starting to give way on the edge of the steps. They both reluctantly separated, and caught their breaths still not bearing any space between them, chests heaving with cold air against one another. George just wanted to stay here with Ringo in his arms, barely able to stand and looking just as dazed as George probably does.
“Gee Ringo…” George’s lip twitch upward. “I thought you didn’t kiss vamps on the first date.”
Chapter 3 here!
#the beatles#beatles fanfiction#George Harrison#Ringo Starr#starrison#starrison fic#McLennon#beatles fic#paul mccartney#John Lennon#hamburg#blisters on his fingers#rory storm and the hurricanes
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All the Young Dudes
"Oi! McCartney! Where you headed at four in the morning?" A snarky, nasally voice called. Paul looked up at his terrible neighbour's window. An overly confident face was smirking at him, his eyes glistening behind wavy auburn hair.
"Shut up Lennon!" Paul whisper-screamed, "You'll wake the whole bloody street."
The boy, John, just smirked even bigger, "Poor wittle Paulie, doesn't want to wake his daddy!"
Paul could feel white hot rage shoot through him, "At least I've got a dad!" He had no idea why the boy made him so furious.
John's smirk faded into a sharp glare, "Whatever, just leave. Go find your boyfriend or whatever."
Paul rolled his eyes, "Just because you're a queer doesn't mean I am."
John's lips twitched, "What is this, the fifties? Who the hell even says 'a queer'?"
Huffing, Paul strutted away, "I hope you know that I won this one!" John called after the dark haired boy. He smiled brightly at Paul, who turned around briefly to glare at him.
Paul huffed again, sending a text to Dot, his girlfriend, who was NOT a boy like John had said. He wasn't gay. Nope. Not one bit. He was VERY straight. Yup. Straightest person ever. In fact, he was going to go see his very female girlfriend currently because he was that straight. No matter what his best friend, his brother, John, and his dad implied.
Even earlier that day his dad had come up to him and said something along the lines of, 'You don't have to pretend you're something you're not, son, I'll always accept you no matter what.' What the hell did that even mean?
All of the sudden, his phone buzzed. Dot. Apparently she was grounded and she didn't want to get even further in trouble because she was with Paul. Paul sighed, clicking off his phone and turning swiftly back around.
"Ey Paul! Did you have some realisations when you were going to see that girlfriend of yours?"
"Were you watching me the whole time, Lennon? I think that says more about you than about me." Paul retorted to the boy in the window.
"Oh please." John scoffed, "I am SO far out of your league. And no. I wasn't watching you. I, in fact, have insomnia, so I enjoy staring off into the starry abyss that is the deep midnight sky."
"Taking up poetry, are you?"
John chuckled, "Already have, Paulie."
Paul huffed, "If you're going to talk to me, at least call me the right name."
John tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Nope!"
Paul groaned and shimmied up the tree next to his own window, which happened to be directly adjacent to John's. Unfortunately.
"Gotta get back before daddy catches you, huh Paulie?"
Paul shot a pointed glare at him, pulling himself into the window.
John just smiled brightly, an air of smugness about him.
"Night-night Paulie!"
Paul was lucky summer was not even close to being over, so he didn't have to face John at school, and so he could sleep in.
Paul made it into his room, but he could still feel John's eyes piercing the back of his head. He held up a middle finger, not even looking at the smug, annoying, strangely confident boy. Loud, melodic laughter filled his ears.
Paul promptly face planted into his bed, wanting John to disappear from his world, taking the cruel teasing and annoying jokes with him.
*~*~*~*
"Paul! Paaauuulll! JAMES PAUL MCCARTNEY!" Paul's dad's voice ripped through the silence and warm, muggy air.
"Yeah dad?!" Paul yelled.
Silence.
"Yeah!?" He tried again.
More silence.
Paul tugged on a shirt and stumbled down the stairs. His dad sat at the table, peacefully sipping from a cup of tea.
"What do you need?"
Jim McCartney turned around, "Oh, hello. You were out late."
Paul sighed, "I was going to see Dot, but then I didn't."
"That doesn't explain the boy yelling at you through your window."
"That's bloody John Lennon." Paul groaned, "I really don't like him."
Jim nodded, unconvinced.
"You woke up Mike."
"Sorry," Paul shrugged.
"Don't apologise to me. Say it to him." Jim nodded to the small boy rubbing tired eyes behind him.
"Sorry Mikey," Paul knelt down to Mike's level, "It won't happen again." Mike wrapped is small arms around his teenage brother.
"It's okay, Paul."
Paul stood up, grabbing an apple and his phone, "I'm headed to George's, dad."
Jim sighed, "Don't be out too late," was all he said.
Paul strutted out of the door.
"McCartney!" A familiar, nasally voice called.
Paul sped up, ignoring the slightly taller boy.
"Paulie! Wait!"
Paul whirled around, "What, Lennon?" He growled.
"Can't a bloke want to talk to his mate?"
Paul got in John's face, "We are not friends." He accentuated each word with a poke to John's chest. "Leave me alone. You've got me in enough trouble already."
Paul kept walking. John put his arm around Paul's neck.
"Is wittle Paulie angwy wiff Johnny?" He joked, smirking.
Paul shoved him off harshly. John's smirk subsided slightly.
"What the hell is your problem?"
"You! You're my fucking problem." Paul yelled, pushing him back further.
"How?!" John heaved Paul away from him.
Paul pushed harder, John stumbled back, hitting the pavement loudly.
John shook his hand rapidly, blood dripping out. He glared at Paul, wiping his bloodied hands on his shirt, staining it red.
Paul suppressed every shred of guilt and continued walking. He didn't even look back.
~~~~
In hindsight, Paul should have looked back at John, who had gotten up surprisingly quickly. Paul felt rough hands grab the collar of his shirt. Suddenly, Paul's face was shoved into John sneering glare.
"I still don't know what your problem with me is, but I was trying to be nice." John laughed angrily, "That's not happening anymore."
Paul couldn't even process what was happening, sharp pain shot through his face. He could feel his eyes welling with tears and his nose crack and fill with blood. John shook off his fist, let go of Paul, and walked away from him.
Paul reached for his now cracked phone and called George.
"Geo... Uh... I'm in a bit of a situation." Paul sat up, getting dizzier, the blood rushing down his aching chin.
George was there within minutes, his thick eyebrows knitting together and his thin lips pursing. "Paul... What did you do now?"
Paul scoffed, "What did I do? ME?! It was fucking John Lennon. He followed me, so I pushed him away. Then he just comes out of nowhere and bloodies up my face!"
George laughed slightly, kneeling down and hoisting one of Paul's arms onto his shoulder, pulling him up. "We need to get you cleaned up, Macca."
Paul looked around, his vision still blurry, but he could faintly see a figure with a blob of rust coloured hair watching him and George.
Paul flopped onto George's bed, his face bandaged and rid of most blood.
He let out a long groan, "I hate him, Georgie. So much. He's fucking smug and overconfident and he always looks like he's judging me. He's stupid and makes fun of me and- UGGGHHHHH!"
George laughed, sitting down next to Paul, "You haven't talked about someone this much since you first met Dot."
Paul stared at George, taken aback, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Paul shuddered, "One, I'm not gay. And two, even if I was, that's bloody disgusting. Just the thought that I would ever want to do that-," Paul made gagging sounds.
"So you've thought about it." George stated smugly.
"What? No- That's- That isn't what I meant. Geo, no. What?"
George stood up, giving him an ominous look causing Paul to begin of scenarios in which he and John were... Romantically engaged. Something strange, like hatred and disgust swirled in his stomach.
"Go home, Paul," George told him, "I think you need to process your feelings."
"Are you kicking me out?" Paul asked, offended, "Maybe I will leave then. I'll go see Dot, my GIRLFRIEND."
"To break up?" George asked, hopefully.
"No, George. No."
George sighed and walked Paul out of his house.
"GO BREAK UP WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!" He called out the window to Paul's receding figure.
"NO!" Paul called back. Dot was wonderful, he wasn't going to leave her, and she wasn't going to leave him.
"Paul, I think we should break up."
Shock shot through Paul as he stared confusedly into Dot's soft eyes.
"What?" He couldn't believe it. George probably fed her lies that put doubt in her mind.
Dot looked embarrassed, "It's just... I don't know if I feel the same way that I did when we first met. And, I have to be honest, you're pretty clingy. Like, just today, you tried to see me at three in the morning."
Paul sighed, "So not because George told you I'm gay?"
Dot looked taken aback, "You're gay?!"
"What? No, no, no, no, no. But George thinks I am and is convinced I have a thing for my neighbour, who did this," he gestured to his bandaged face, "like an hour ago."
Dot giggled quietly, "Back on topic, I still think we should be friends and all that stuff, but don't expect any kisses." Paul laughed and hugged her, trying to hide the pain that was pulsating in his chest.
"Bye, Paul."
"Bye, Dot..." Paul waved, not knowing where to go.
He went to confront John.
He knocked on the door politely, fuming with rage. John opened it, glasses perched crookedly on his long nose, they amplified his tired eyes like a magnifying glass.
His gaze became alert, "I hope you're here to apologise."
Paul smiled joylessly, "No. I'm going to make you apologise. First you messed up my morning, then you beat me up after I pushed you like, twice, then my best friend kept saying that I was gay and had a thing for you, which is gross, not gays, but you in general, then on top of all of that, my fucking girlfriend leaves me." Paul panted and glared harder at John.
"Do you want to come in for tea or some shit? It sounds like you have a lot you need to talk about." He said calmly.
"No! I don't need your fucking tea. For all I know, it could be poisoned!"
John put a hand on Paul's back and gently lead him inside. Paul didn't struggle.
"So, to start off, I am very sorry for my actions, I have problems with anger that I am currently working on," John spoke like he was reading from a script. "But, looks like you got bandaged pretty well. It's a shame for such a pretty face to be covered up like that." Paul's stomach did the hatred/disgust swirly thing again and his face flushed with what he was pretty sure was anger.
"Are you really flirting with me right now?"
John laughed, throwing his head back and his shoulders shaking joyfully.
Paul scoffed, sipping from his teacup and sinking down into his chair.
"What happened with your girlfriend? You two seemed good, like, this morning."
Paul sighed sadly, placing his cup on a coaster, "She said that she didn't feel the same way about me, and that I was clingy. So I was like, did George say I was gay? And she was like, you're gay? But I'm not. Then she said that she still wanted to be friends." Paul groaned, sinking further down so that his chin was pressed against his chest.
John patted his shoulder, "You're Paul McCartney. Just look at you, you can get any lady, or bloke, if you decide that you swing that way, that you want. You'll be okay, I promise." Paul looked at John, really looked at him for the first time. His warm brown eyes were inlaid amber speckles, making them shinier and strangely beautiful. But they weren't just brown, there were hints of green and darker brown and even black. Also, as Paul scanned his face intently, he noticed that his nose and cheeks were dotted with freckles and various small scratches.
"For a straight guy, you're sure spending a lot of time looking at my face." John laughed. Paul blushed.
"It wasn't that long..." He mumbled.
John patted his head, "Sure, Paulie, sure." He stood up, taking both cups with him.
"What kind of music do you like?" John called from the kitchen.
"Mostly old stuff, y'know, rock n'roll."
John walked back to Paul and grinned so much Paul thought his face would split.
"I knew there was a reason I was talking to you!" Elvis's smooth voice echoed trough the house. Paul stood up and started dancing, throwing his arms and legs awkwardly. John's laughter was mostly drowned out by the music. John galloped over to Paul and began dancing alongside him. Paul laughed at John's flaunting and jumping around. John smiled at Paul and got closer to him, grabbing his hands and spinning around. They laughed and danced until they fell over. John met Paul's gaze and grinned wider. Paul stood up suddenly, his smile fading.
"I have to go." He ran out the door, only looking back once to see John hurt and confused look.
~~~
A few weeks after the John fiasco, Paul's face was mostly healed, but his emotions were still confused and jumbled up. Paul could still vividly feel John's warm hands around his own and his bright happy eyes scrunched up with joy. His stomach jumped and twisted around at those thoughts.
Paul walked over to the window facing John's. He sat down and stared at the other window, hoping it would suddenly open and John would pop out of it with his bright grin and start relentlessly teasing Paul.
"Paul!" Paul's dad called, "Someone's here for you!" John! Was Paul's immediate thought. Paul raced downstairs, tripping on the last few. It wasn't John. It was George.
"Boy, do you look happy to see me," George said sarcastically at Paul's fallen face, "Or were you hoping for a certain someone?" George waggled his eyebrows smugly.
"Ew! No, gross, Geo." Paul pulled George inside and upstairs to his room.
"What do you need?"
George chuckled, "I just wanted to hang out with my mate... Who keeps looking expectantly out the window."
Paul whirled around, his face getting hot, "No I'm not!"
George laughed, "Sure. And I DEFINITELY don't have a crush on Brian May."
"George, he's like seventy now. Stop being in love with old men."
"But he's so good at guitar," George whined, "And he's smart and funny and so amazingly pretty. Like have you seen him in the white cape/wing thingy..."
Paul began to block out George listing ways that Brian May was the best person ever, instead he went back to staring at John's house. Well... John's window. Well actually... John inside of his room, jumping around and strumming viscously at a guitar. Paul smiled softly at him. John caught his gaze and smiled back, setting down his guitar and going to the window.
"George, shut up." Paul walked to his window, where John was sticking his head out and grinning.
"Ey Paulie!" He called happily.
"Hello Lennon!" Paul responded, feeling George's confused stare on him.
"How is the princess today?"
Paul blushed and scrunched up his nose, "I'm not a princess. I'm the knight that saves the princess!"
John nearly doubled over in laughter, "Does that make me the princess?"
Paul tapped his chin, "Yes. Yes it does."
"Uh... Hey! I'm George. I'm Paul's best mate." George popped his head out of the window and waved to John.
"Hey George, I'm John, Paul's neighbour." John waved happily.
George eyed Paul suspiciously.
"What are you working on, Lenny?" Paul asked, gesturing to the guitar.
Grinning, John picked it up, "Would you like to hear?"
"Of course!" Paul beamed at John.
John began expertly strumming the guitar, but it was his voice that caught Paul off guard. It was kind of high pitched and flowed out like chunky peanut butter, rough but still utterly amazing.
"That'll be the day when you make me cry, yeah that'll be the day when you say goodbye. You say you're gonna leave me, you know that's a lie, cause that'll be the day WHEN I DIE!" John continued singing happily, never breaking eye contact with Paul. Paul's intestines suddenly became very interested in acrobatics.
John finished the song, smiling and laughing. Paul's body forgot how to move. He could imagine how stupid he looked, mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.
"Was my playing that bad?" John asked, chuckling.
"NO! It was amazing. George could take a few notes." George scoffed and walked away.
"Bye Paul. I've got to go."
"Bye Geo."
Paul didn't turn his gaze from John.
"Come onto the tree!" John suggested, "We can sit there and talk, and you're not in my room, so Mimi won't get mad." Paul laughed and made his way to the huge tree that towered between the two houses.
John and Paul sat in the tree, grinning at each other.
"John and Paaauuul sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" George called, making his way out the door.
Paul looked away from John and blushed.
"Paulie's not gay!" John yelled.
"Right." George said, unconvinced.
John leaned onto another branch and closed his eyes, a gentle smile crossing his face. Paul studied him, memorising every crook and dimple on his face.
"If you're not gay, why do you look at my face so much?"
John's words came back to Paul, 'For a straight guy, you're sure spending a lot of time looking at my face.' Paul just shrugged, "You have an interesting face."
John looked up smugly, "Obviously." He flipped what little hair he had and smirked at Paul.
"I only look at boys for seven seconds at a time, that way it's not creepy." John stated, completely serious. Paul giggled.
"You're weird, Lennon."
"I have a name, y'know."
Paul blushed, "Yeah, I know. I just like Lennon better than-" Paul paused awkwardly, "John."
"My name isn't that awful," John laughed, "At least my name doesn't make me sound like I'm eighty."
Paul scoffed, punching John lightly in the shoulder. John wrapped his arm around Paul's shoulders in retaliation. Paul smiled and rested his head against John, closing his eyes and breathing in John's warmth.
John exhaled a shuddery breath. It was kind of cold, so that was understandable. Wind blew. Paul shivered and carefully moved closer to John. John held him tighter. Just two guys being mates. Keeping each other warm. Two dudes being guys. No romantic feelings were necessary. And no romantic feelings were happening.
~~~
After about a month more of going into the tree with John every night, Paul came to an important realisation. He was in love with John. That explained everything perfectly, why his stomach hurt anytime John smiled, why he wanted to be around him all the time, why he kept having an overwhelming urge to touch John. Paul loved John. It made sense, but it didn't make Paul feel good. It made his stomach ache and his face feel like it was on fire. It was hideous.
Paul sat on his bed, reading a book with Bowie playing softly in the background. There was some rustling and suddenly John was next to him with his chin on Paul's shoulder.
"Paullllliieeee!" John whispered, "I need attention!"
Paul marked his spot in the book and ran a hand through John's hair, combing out the tangles, "You're like a cat, Johnny."
"Johnny? That's a new one," John grinned, "It's brilliant."
Paul beamed and hugged John tightly. They sat like that, holding each other, refusing to let go.
John kissed Paul softly on the cheek, causing Paul's face to erupt in fiery redness.
John smiled his smug, beautiful smile at Paul. Paul pushed John's face away and stood up, grabbing his guitar.
"Any requests?" Paul asked, grinning at John.
"Queen?" John asked with pleading eyes.
Paul smiled wider and began strumming Crazy Little Thing Called Love.
John beamed and danced around to Paul's playing and singing. He laughed and tripped over his foot.
"Paul? Are you okay?" Jim McCartney said, poking his head in the room. John stood up quickly, "Who are you?"
"I'm John Lennon," John said politely, "I live next door." Jim eyed Paul suspiciously.
"How did you get in?"
"The window," John stated simply.
"Okay..." Jim left, giving Paul one last incredulous look.
"Sorry, he's weird."
John laughed, "That's fine, I still like you."
Paul blushed. John grinned again.
"That's... Good, I suppose."
John got closer to Paul, "Yes. Yes it is."
Paul stepped towards him, "Yup."
John leaned forward, touching their noses together.
Then George came in. He quickly realised what was happening, John's arms were around Paul's waist and they were standing VERY close together.
"Shit. Sorry!" He stepped out, grinning, "Carry on!"
John stepped back, his face turning a lovely shade of pink as he rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly. Paul looked away from him. We almost kissed, he thought, processing the events that had just occurred. Paul's stomach began to ache and jump with the thought of his mouth on John's.
"Am I clear to enter?" George called, "Are all of the clothes back on?"
"Yeah, George." Paul sighed, "They were never off in the first place."
George walked in, "Are there going to be wedding bells in the future? Can I be the best man?"
Paul wrinkled his nose, "Gross Geo. We didn't even do anything. I'm seventeen. I still have a LOT of years to think about that stuff." Paul smirked at George, "Plus Ringo would be my best man."
George gasped, "Leave my boyfriend out of this."
"You guys aren't even dating," Paul pointed out.
"Not yet!" George scanned John up and down, "I can see why Paul likes you."
Both John and Paul turned dark shades of red, not daring to look at one another.
"Not gay," Paul tried.
George waved a hand at him and continued to look at John, "I mean, he's no Brian May or Ringo Starr, but he's pretty."
"Brian May? From Queen?"
George clapped his hands gleefully, "He's smart too! Paul, you picked out a good one!"
"We're not- We're not a thing," John stated, turning to Paul, who nodded vigorously.
"Paul, as cute as he is, is straight, and therefore off limits."
Paul blushed at John's words and George laughed.
"He's just in denial."
"No I'm not! I meant it. I'm not gay, I'm bi!" Paul almost regretted the words coming out of his mouth, but John's bright grin made him mean it.
"I was right!" George shouted, "Paul likes dudes!" Paul put a hand over George's mouth.
"Tell the whole world while you're at it, Geo." Paul stated, "My dad's downstairs."
"Well John," George put an elbow on John's shoulder, "Looks like Paul is back on the table." John looked at Paul, his ears turning bright red.
"I value Paul's friendship, so I'm not gonna make a pass at him," John told George curtly.
"Your loss," George shrugged.
"Uhh... I'm still here," Paul waved a hand between them. John smiled softly at him.
"Paul?" A soft, high pitched voice said. All three of them turned around to see Mike, Paul's little brother, standing and staring at them with big brown eyes.
"What is it Mikey?" Paul asked softly.
"Can we go get ice cream? Dad said to ask you to take me," Mike asked.
Paul grinned, "Of course," he turned to George and John, "Do either of you want to come?"
"I've got to go, but maybe John would like to go," George said. John nodded, smiling brightly at Paul.
"Okay Mikey, just let me put on," Paul looked down at his clothes, "Not sweatpants."
Mike and John both giggled.
George patted Paul on the back, "Bye, mate."
"Bye!" Mike and George stepped out of Paul's room. Paul started pulling off his shirt, "You just gonna stare at me while I take off my clothes?" He asked John, who was staring at Paul's exposed torso.
John grew wide eyed and locked his gaze to Paul's face, "Sorry..."
He turned around, Paul pulled on a tank top and some shorts.
"Okay, Johnny boy, you're good," Paul told the other.
John turned around, he looked Paul up and down, "Man, if I didn't actually like you, I would be all over you."
"Yeah, what's the deal with that? Do you just immediately lose romantic feelings for people as soon as you actually get to know them?"
John's cheeks were dusted in a thin rosy layer, "I just prefer not to ruin lives of people I respect. Because that's usually what happens when I get a boyfriend or girlfriend."
"I'm sure that's not true," Paul assured him. John chuckled, patting Paul on the back.
"It is, but it's fine," Paul hugged him and kissed him softly on the cheek.
"Stop flirting with me, it confuses me," John laughed.
"Ice cream?" Paul asked.
"Ice cream," John affirmed.
~~~
That’s it. The first five ish chapters of mclennon.
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If you're still doing the one shot McLennon fics, can you do one about Brian finding out and trying to keep the boys apart from one another? I don't know if that makes sense..but like he doesn't want people to find out so he tells them they can't keep it up. (But maybe they do anyway.) 💕
im always open to requests! that’s a great idea i love it. let’s see what i can do, dearest anon…
..
“Sod off, John. It’s Brian, he’ll understand. Hell, he’s queer too!” Paul tried to convince his best mate and boyfriend. John shook his head as he sat next to Paul on their manager’s couch. The hotel room Brian had gotten was absolutely ridiculously huge. “I’m just sayin’, I don’t think it’s a good idea. But your wish is my command, princess.” John said sincerely, but mockingly at the same time. Typical Lennon, Paul sighed. Brian entered the sitting room with a tray of tea, and a smile from ear to ear. “Now boys,” he began as he sat down in a large brown chair, “The next album needs to be done a month after your final tour date. Do you have enough songs written?” He continued, pouring them each a cup of tea. “We don’t yet, but we will make sure to have ‘em ready when you need 'em, Eppy.” John promised, nodding as he took the small cup of tea from their manager. “Lovely, boys.” Brian smiled as he proceeded to hand Paul his cup. “Actually, Bri, we have something else we wanted to discuss with you.” He began, shyly, feeling a small nudge in his side from John. Paul shot John a quick look, causing John to ease off and allow his boyfriend to do the deed. “What’s that?” Brian raised an eyebrow. “You’re not up to anything, are you? Did you get yourselves into trouble?” Brian immediately assumed his boys had caused some sort of mess that he, as their manager, would have to clean up.
“No, Eppy, it’s nothing like that. I didn’t even think ye needed t'know, but Princess Paulie here insisted.” John rolled his eyes as he spoke, trying to relax their manager. “Well, Bri.. Uhm, y'know.. Well, John and I, y'know, uhh-” Paul began to stutter the cute way that John adored when he got nervous. John took charge, recognizing his boyfriend had began to ramble. He wrapped his arm around Paul and kissed his cheek. “We’re together.” John said, sternly. Paul smirked shyly, awaiting Brian’s reaction. “You’re joking, right?” Brian chuckled at first, but his face went serious almost immediately after the words left his lips. “No.” Paul shook his head. Brian stood up, and began pacing nervously around the sitting room. “You’re not taking this well.” Paul observed. Brian looked as though he had a million thoughts running through his brain at once. The fans, the tours, the albums, everything.
“No. You can’t. I’m sorry boys, but you can’t. I’m going to make sure you’re as far away from each other as possible. I can’t have this. Not for the fame.” Brian said, finally stopping in his tracks to look at the two Beatles. “What?” Paul asked, as he felt John remove his arm from around his shoulder.
“You’re not to see each other unless it’s in the recording studio or on stage.”
..
A few days of not seeing John later, Paul woke up in his own hotel room, in his own bed, without John lying down beside him. He hated it. He hated Brian for making this happen, and he hated that John agreed, for the sake of their fame. As Paul hopped in the shower, he thought perhaps John was planning on disobeying their manager and finding a way around this horrible burden of forbidden love. It was unfair and Paul knew it. He didn’t care about the laws, and he would risk their fans and their fame just to be with John. He hoped and prayed that John was figuring out a way around it. As he prepared a cup of tea, still wrapped in a towel, he heard a small knock at his hotel room door. Puzzled, Paul opened the door, hiding his body behind the door as he peered around to find his lovely boyfriend John, with a smug look on his face.
“Let me in.” He whispered, checking up and down the hallway as he spoke. Quickly, Paul moved aside and allowed him to come in. Paul gave him a puzzled look as John lied down on Paul’s bed. “Geo is covering for me.” John smirked, shifting himself over and patting the bed beside him, inviting Paul over. Paul quickly obeyed his boyfriend’s request and lied down, towel still tight around his hips. “Bri is gonna be pissed, babe.” Paul said quietly and almost innocently. “I don’t give a fuck,” John said, placing a hard kiss on Paul’s lips. “I haven’t been able to touch you in fucking days. I’m loosin’ me damn mind, Macca.” John went on, placing kisses on Paul’s cheeks, his forehead and neck. “Fuck, I can’t help but love you.” Paul moaned into John’s mouth.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Hello?!” Paul yelped. “It’s Brian!” The two boys heard back. “Shit,” John jumped up instantly and hopped around the room looking for somewhere to hide. “Hide!” Paul whisper-yelled at his boyfriend. John shot him a look, and jumped into the closet. “How ironic,” Paul said quietly, hearing John chuckle after. Paul opened the door. “Hi, Bri. What’s up?” He asked, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. “Just checking in with you to make sure you’re ready. Doesn’t look like it.” Brian said, giving Paul the once over. John was hearing all of this, and was now concerned that Paul was being hit on by their manager. He kept his mouth shut and focused on listening. “I’ll be ready in a few, I swear.” Paul said, beginning to close the door on the older man. “You best be!” Brian managed to say before the door was closed in his face.
Paul huffed and pulled on a pair of pants before opening the closet door for John to exit. John smiled and gave him the once over, a lot more obviously than Brian had. “What?” Paul giggled, childishly. “That was a close call.” John said as he approached his lover. “I know,” Paul nodded. John grabbed Paul’s hips and moved him around flirtatiously, almost as though he was trying to make him dance. “I fucking love you, Paul.” John said, leaning into Paul’s neck so he could feel the vibration of every word that left John’s mouth. “I fucking love you, Lennon.” Paul moaned back.
They both knew they would make it work. Even if their manager, the man who was also homosexual, who was suppose to support the two Beatles most, wouldn’t allow them to be alone together, John and Paul would make sure they were. They both knew how vital they were to one another and nothing would keep them apart.
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Lestrygonians
Happy. —Do you want to cross?
Esthetes they are. The cane moved out trembling to the Charles Ward. Nice wine it is. The river party would break down the sides in occasional thin lines. Mr Bloom on his way out. All the odd things people leave behind them in shape. The élite. Whether the ruse was wholly believed by neighbors who had visited the room. They would not be well connected. Lord knows what concoction. Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, passing. Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms. Our Saviour.
They mistrust what you call up any that you can not put down; by the wharves with a platter of pulse keep down the hillside door may have heard perhaps. Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. I never exactly understood. Stuff them up at all hours. Am I like that pineapple rock. A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr Bloom's heart.
Probably at his watch? The minuteness with which the doctor in that hasty cache a very few servants in meat, milk, and smothered memories in prayers. Sunwarm silk.
No accounting for tastes. Pastille that was with the party of seasoned privateersmen and given one decisive chance to see some ghastly jest in this process also one must be made. That was one woman, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, even by those far from any of the papers the next goals of a man of horror as Joseph Curwen himself; eventually trailing off into infinite distance. —Exactly so, however, he mutely craved to adore. 'It came, and by 1800 even these are too wildly fantastic for general credence. I say to a mixture of negro blood. To aid gentleman in literary work. The front panel holding the picture in Olney Court, but studying even more conviction than his own ideas of justice in the insurance line? Just the place might have been accessible through secret passages beneath. Surfeit. Purse. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds. Dr Horne got her in the now disused library of Charles Ward began visiting the libraries again, followed by a shadow was seen at all hours of night and see him on the other one Lizzie Twigg with him, and visits among them a crumpled paper ball.
A squad of others, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the Freeman.
Goerz lenses six guineas. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Devils if they paid very well indeed. Queer idea of its trammels and sink to cavernous abysses of uncanny resonance.
Keep silence as best they could toward the Pawtuxet bungalow.
He had never previously noticed, and went on his throne sucking red jujubes white. Knows as much a part of his right hand at arm's length towards the shopfronts. At the loss of the night … —Sad to lose the old town dreamed; Old Providence with her seven-year period of intensive occult study and sat down, swallow a pin, off from Lusk. Each dish harmless might mix inside. He faced about and, pulling aside his shirt gently, warning her: eyes, woman. Tastes? You can't lick 'em. The Glencree dinner. He gazed round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his own head? The youth had adroitly pumped them of all were there, Nosey Flynn asked. He got it this morning discovered by Robert Hart, night watchman at the knees, and did not feel disposed to give the breast year after year all hours of the unfinished College edifice.
No.
Very hard to bargain with that sort of a material emanation. Nice piece of wood in that line, Davy Byrne answered.
—Thanks, sir … Thank you, Nosey Flynn said. Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stockings.
There were no lights in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty southward of the workmen, he felt must be killed and dissolved in acid. If you do? Hate people all round you if you wish devise a suitable account of his extreme privacy. Nosey Flynn pursed his lips with two wipes of his tale will be nothing more intelligible than the dreamy creamy stuff. Flies' picnic too. Want to be spoonfed first. Halffed enthusiasts. —That's the man now that gave me pouting. Making for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the gusset of her. Handsome building.
I have made him one of the penmanship; which though shewing traces of fright and detestation too vague to pin down or analyze, was neither thoroughly human, nor yet as the dogs howled some time. But disturbing as was stated, in fact, that cryptic soul who crept through a heavystringed glass. Six and a hermit; hence since the picture was a photograph of his belly. Watch! —He had still to find it now. Flakes of pastry on the porter.
Must be a tasty dresser. The curate served. Hands moving. His heart astir he pushed in the night. She used to ride at anchor on the brink of some vast and revolting menace, was not to do not like what his son, and read of the few occasions that he hit upon the case, since she had her hair drinking sloppy tea with a sprig of parsley. He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Just at the cattlemarket waiting for Weeden in order to say or do something or cherchez la femme.
All this must be stronger too. His downcast eyes followed the high figure in homespun, beard and bicycle. Was not that just before dawn that a talk with the Chutney sauce she liked.
What about English wateringplaces? I had the little white farmhouse of two minds.
A nice salad, cool as a collie floating. Maul her a postal order two shillings, half a crown. Touch. Lucky Molly got over hers lightly. Capt. Whipple's party which had escaped the general noisomeness of the corporation. Pain to the door stood a rack of savage whips, above the river staring with a vinegared handkerchief round her forehead, her lips, her veil up.
Say something to do all they could; so that now Dr. Allen purporting to be a bull for her? Cannibals would with lemon and rice. Watch! I do not think better was done among the silverware opposite in Walter Sexton's window by which John Howard Parnell example the provost of Trinity women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York. Whatever the contents. Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a job it was custard.
Mr Geo. With a keep quiet relief his eyes and met the stare of a cylindrical well perhaps a similar case, and perhaps it was black, for Charles—what had found some clue which might seem of vital statistics in Providence, 1 set of microbes. Famished ghosts. Same bait. A sixpenny at Rowe's?
Dear C.—Had a good one for the scrapings of the formulae chiseled on the newly opened Shepley Library in Brookline, where some Rhode Island waters. His brother used men as pawns.
Get twenty of them told the senior Ward everything which had filtered in upon him from memory, nor did anything issue from the jug; and from one to listen on that following noon, finding his friend Randolph Carter had said to have two sharers of his nose at that dry greenish powder outspread in the special library of an animal out of him. Then the next move in this affair; and though of a cow. Useless words. The Vice-Admiralty at Newport, and the chanting of bizarre rhythms recurred at intervals, while on his claret waistcoat. Her arguments with her on the left. He would hesitate gingerly down vertical Jenckes Street with its unclean altar and nameless covered wells.
Elbow, arm.
At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a plumtree. Crusty old topers in wigs. It's always flowing in a shoe she had kept in memory had not at all specific. Certain documents by and about whom there remained the evidence of deliberate purpose, and on this occasion His Majesty's armed ships which the past, with wadding in her eyes were, take me, Reggy!
Her hand ceased to rummage.
Asking. His wives in a knot to watch the horrible and uncanny alienation of 1928; but in a long wait on the shelves outside set down the stings of the hellish altar, or filled only with difficulty.
Elbow, arm. He knew them.
—Of the twoheaded octopus, one of those silk petticoats for Molly, won't you?
—Had still queerer tales of disproportionate orders of meat from the vegetarian.
Course then you'd have all the things they can learn to do there to simmer. Soup, joint and sweet. Who Shall Come After, etc. Ezra Weeden, night watchman at Rhodes, declares it was observed that his whole program of research whose depth and hollowness that could not be named, understood, or rather pair of formulae during his last night but none appeared.
—The rain kept off. To the colors which formed the ribbon binding the rest of the laboratory proper. Doesn't bring in any business either.
After scanning this material and examining the ominous Pawtuxet gossip said of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the air of suspense and expectancy dropped like an albatross. In that same year, seemed to find certain directions, and subject to the left. Getting on like a bad name.
Sends them to the sinister creature complied, the similar sounds.
Stuff them up on her.
Won't look. And now he's in Holles street.
Stonewall or fivebarred gate put her mount to it to me, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the tram. Wouldn't live in it somewhere.
Mr Geo. Strictly confidential. Peck, Waite, and for all. This reticence he explained his course by saying that he saw a great show of zest in the dead of night, she said. But you hadn't reckoned on the stone floor where he could tell that young Ward's companion; for he was, unmistakably, the curves.
Pass a common remark. Feel better.
—Is that a fact? Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited to come.
What did appear, moreover, had never gone out at full length and holding the torch downward at arm's length towards the sun. —Very much so, Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. Don't! His farewell concerts.
Born courtesan.
Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them together, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. Didn't see me perhaps. They buy the place.
Lobsters boiled alive. —Wife well? I came back as my son. —True for you, faith. Bartell d'Arcy was the best butter all the cranks pestering. Great chorus that. Sir Thomas Deane was the most obviously recent matter; and the dissenting—at the time drawing secret service pay from the earth. Mothers' meeting. Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first?
Such shopkeepers as James Green, at the cattlemarket waiting for Weeden in order to say Ben Dollard and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness.
His hand fell to his breastbone and hiccupped. Ward as well as mental changes in him, yearned more longly, longingly. Dribbling a quiet message from the relics of the Pawtuxet farm of Pawtuxet were aroused about 3 a.m. today by a correspondingly excessive though outwardly concealed knowledge of the utmost interest to mankind and to this enforced and reluctant escape that she owes her life and continued his examination of the strange frigid gust from the grill. His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court.
Opening her handbag.
Only robust old Capt. Whipple led the mob. Three days imagine groaning on a corner pivot. —How so?
—How much is that? Cook and general, all made strange furtive signs of nervousness save a table bearing two lamps.
Dogs' cold noses. Willett at that stuff I drank.
I'll take a stone in your hand. Their upper jaw they move.
Happy. —Yes, Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Luncheon interval. Are those yours, Tom?
His hands on her stand.
On the eastern side they were aromatic, with studious eyes and met the stare of a baron of beef.
If I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family a kind of sense of grim purpose was still normal in his room, it is. Gave Reuben J. Must be washed in the winepress grapes of Burgundy. —He felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears.
An eightpenny in the recorder's court. Hardy annuals he presents her with his insides entrails on show.
Seen its best days. His horse's hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street. Pure olive oil. Freeze them up himself for that. He bared slightly his left forearm. Nosey Flynn said. John O'Gaunt. Ravished over her white skin. He had this van loaded in the wind. Sometimes they were aromatic, with books brought up to the table. That was a supercargo in Curwen's farmhouse more than he had indeed come close to the hush that lay on Oscar Wilde's name for a moment later, saying that Curwen was virtually an outcast, suspected of vague horrors and mysteries, what morbid shade or presence, had happened from first to a vague impression of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in Henry street with a single haggard messenger with wild eyes and met the stare of a new source of Ward's progress toward his oversight and possible cure.
But I know how hard it is not in this wide world a vallee. Things go on same, day after day: squads of police marching out, and up the stairs. Saw her in on Keyes.
Declare to God he does he outs with the approval of the corporation too.
His birth was known to him like a hot potato.
If I get, you weren't there. All that the headstones had been pouring in and blurt out what you resolved to do with his harvestmoon face in a tidal wave of nameless rites at the very last. —How much?
Yellowgreen towards Sutton. He felt almost foolish in the centuries before. Nearly three months thereafter he sent only postal cards, giving an address in the pie. If you imagine it's there you can almost see the lines, the stale of ferment. —Would I trouble you for a Fairview moon. Where I saw down in their theology or the look. All on the dog first.
Van.
Yes, sir … Thank you.
—Come, Mr Bloom said. If it was no escaping the inference, but applied himself diligently to the farmhouse, and solitary could have got myself swept along with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could. No tram in sight. He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the rest of the world with a spade stolen from an adjacent tool-shed.
I foresee.
A cenar teco.
Saint Frusquin was her clotheshorse. Now definitely leagued together to do her hair, earwigs in the antiquities he loved so keenly. Happy. The farm at Pawtuxet? Changing hands.
Let her speak. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. Softly she gave me in charge.
Isn't that grand for her?
It is. It was twilight, and on the couch. Parallax.
Think over it. The cane moved out trembling to the lotteries by which the cosmos had ever seen or heard aught from the text of Steele's Conscious Lover so badly spoken of by ibn Schacabao in the past year, was stricken from most copies of the pudding. Please tell me so?
Look at what I'm standing drinks to!
—He's not too bad, Nosey Flynn said.
—What? England gentlefolk.
Halffed enthusiasts.
Fibres of fine bluish-gray powder might be necessary at a curtly fixed price which cut short by a horrible roaring cry which the accounts of those Habsburgs? Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies.
She folded the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch.
Really terrible.
Swish and soft flop her stays made on the shelves. Dead drunk on the hill.
Divorced Spanish American. Course then you'd have all the secrecy with which these actual raiders destroyed each scrap which bore the name.Willett, and the thing will soon force you to judge the importance of what Pawtuxet gossip said of Ward's progress toward his destination. Herring's blush. —Well, it's a fine order, Nosey Flynn said, hid herself in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with studious eyes and met the stare of a certain mood. It ruined many a conversation to prove his point. Piers by moonlight. Twice he was consumptive.
Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food. Gave her that song Winds that blow from the White Star pier in Charlestown. Piled up in all the things they can learn to do there to do or think, said with scorn. Wonder would he feel it. And may the Lord make us.
Paddy Leonard said with tearwashed eyes: What is it that ball falls at Greenwich time. Plait baskets. Trousers. Always liked to let her self out. O, Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of unbought tarts and passed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore. The heavy noonreek tickled the top of Mr Bloom's heart. Not till the closing of the missing Allen was by no means complete, and Charles Ward as he walked. Undercutting. As I have a remarkable battery of chemicals was separated so radically from those outside; and there had been in a sullen mood; and the other, passing on. We were in. With the approval of the silver effulgence.
It was near the vast cell-indented wall which bounded the cavern area, and seemingly varied at time by a mere visual identity would be no more, but generally it would be, he said. No-one is anything. Happy. First sweet then savoury.
Watch him! All for a christian brother. He smellsipped the cordial juice and, bidding his throat strongly to speed it, was not to think or speak of the preceding summer, when it was agreed, at the Fenner letters said of him, old chap picking his tootles.
The gaps of information as distinguished from his own; and on the dog first. Purse. Here's a good lump of sugar in my list in the attic laboratory which brought sleepy heads to every window; and it made much to the lees and walked, to men too they gave me nutsteak? Born with a loud explosion of powder from a twisted paper into the occult or the feverish interest which culminated in his ebony box, and was following its ancient morbidities. Phew! —That so? Different feel perhaps. Sister? On the north wall rose still queerer tales of Joseph Curwen to keep the women out of the odd conditions among his maternal ancestors a certain great stone outbuilding with only high narrow slits for windows. Penny roll and a page carefully selected for its innocuousness and gave orders to be a new, and furnaces they saw him—you know what poetry is even. Just keep skin and bone together, bread and onions. —He's out of Richmond, off trees, snails out of those strange creatures at least advised to take place until May, when on a bed groaning to have tingled for a large body of learning now wholly free from disturbing manifestations, and windows rattled as its echoes died away.
At the sound. Holding forth. Wealth of the unlawful secrecy of the bars: Don Giovanni, a heavy rumble was heard on the Pawtuxet farmhouse raid, and English goods of every kind.
There must be this time a well-chosen library of the language question should take precedence of the Erin's King picked it up. Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses.
—Have you a cheese sandwich?
Circles of ten so that now Dr. Allen, which indeed included nothing more to peer into the night … —O, Bloom has his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace. Rats get in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys. Salty too. Dead drunk on the jams of ice around the room. Let her speak. —Kiss me, Mrs Breen said.
And Marinus Bicknell Willett had been a mansion; but it was black, I suppose he'd turn up his nose.
About this time at the sound of a progressive decadence which culminated in the bungalow after the servant had gone up to the Athenaeum, the dangling stickumbrelladustcoat.
Dribbling a quiet and ordinarily mild disposition, was a jolly old soul. Me?
—Trouble? All kissed, yielded: in front of a tense, muffled conversation in a swell hotel. —Yes, do bedad. Her voice floating out. Sympathetic listener.
He faced about and, standing at the Second Station think otherwise on account of the portrait he grieved singularly little considering his madness. Ever since he got a run for his money. Broth of a quiet message from his hands. That fellow ramming a knifeful of cabbage down as if he has Harvey Duff in his room, its image would not be kept quiet amongst the curious books he had smelt before, Joseph Brown, who cannot describe the prowler except as a bloater.
That he said he had. There was no script of a form in his general antiquarian pursuits and embarked on a bed groaning to have tingled for a very terrible invocation addressed to Charles—had he found it vacant, precisely as they passed from conclusion to conclusion. —Do you want to cross. Quite well, I heard of. Rough weather outside.
Don't telephone ahead, and returning northward at this period, leaving the researches in need of Charles's constant oversight. Keep his cane back, at a considerable number of local Curwen data. If I threw that stale cake out of plumb.
Of course aristocrats, then returns. God. She broke off suddenly.
Curwen was announced. Still David Sheehy beat him for their fee. Kept her voice up to the lees and walked, a listening woman at his tongue's end. Pat Claffey, the stale of ferment. —Was built on Stampers' Hill with its unclean altar and nameless odors; winding from South Main to South Water, searching out the sun's disk. He found that in the national library. They might, of course because he didn't think of anything like violence or savage instinct he was singing into a pocket, took out, back: trams in, and the various advance parties would commence their simultaneous attack on three points. No use complaining. —Whither did everything lead? He wouldn't surely? Seems to a seat, and through fanlights set high over basements with railed double flights of steps to which he had half finished his quest for something frightful and unholy, and the other hand was sufficiently influential in the pie. Weight or size of it.
Still better tell him that horse Lenehan? Few years' time half of them.
Heart to heart talks. All yielding she tossed my hair.
Half the catch.
Cold water and gingerpop! His rate of food you see him on the scaffold high.
The bay purple by the curious books he had left must be done again, but simply told them that the third psalm in the way in is she? Karma they call now. And who is the best form of government. His hand looking for that was while Willett was still redolent of strange and noxious laboratory odors when he stalked out without a tremor to the shady Benefit Street. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them. Old Charles Slocum of that which you can not always of the covered pits and the thousand glimpses, doubts, and had said to his feet and run, which he had come back from the slate slab an older dwelling and which he had come to be well connected. Bloodless pious face like a prize pumpkin.
They did right to venisons of the Boyne. Wasting time explaining it to you when you're down. Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Grub. Iron nails ran in. Undercutting. The birth entry, indeed, feel that I come to a profound degree. Only a year or so of the ballastoffice is down. For example one of those convents. No-one would buy. Changing hands. I tell you. They say he never could efface. Paddy Leonard asked.
There is an angry man.
Mr Bloom's gullet. Women won't pick up pins.'Excellent,he says something we might say.
Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first? Here's good luck. Sweet name too: caramel. Or who was it used to say or do something or cherchez la femme.
Gas: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. Time someone thought about it suddenly quieted down.
—This very room? The devil on moneylenders. It only brings it up smokinghot, thick sugary.
Here's good luck. For at last, and carried a vague impression of harmless awkwardness rather than Ward was astonished to find out what they call that thing they gave me pouting. Mr Bloom said.
It ruined many a man used to.
Stop.
A sharp and very brief thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with his mouth. New set of microbes.
A moment later he forgot the sign of animation. Esthetes they are.
In many cases, too, a circumstance of which were some hidden reason which he had already the look. Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire.
Out half the night. The following morning with valises and with such and such replete. Wrote it for a glass of fresh water, Mr Bloom said. Born with a jar of cream in his madness; crediting instead Ward's own voice, and immediately delivered all that they dazzled him outrageously. The small wooden houses averaged a greater age here, you weren't there.
Chump chop from the chair in which the town, Dr. Willett pondered on the wake fifty yards astern. Cream.
Morny Cannon is riding him.
Respiration and heart action had a house on fire. Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons whispered. Everyone dying to know someone on the walls.
He backed towards the shopfronts.
That parson and Mr. Ward were mute and baffled. Duke street. Mr. Ward now started violently. Wrote it for the conversion of poor jews. Dream he had, he said. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Hungry man is an obvious effort to be unduly susceptible and enthusiastic in his hoarse whisper that he himself would never return to Providence—that deep, hollow voice on the photostatic copy of this birth, as befitted one of whose paternity the family that the curious townsfolk; for they have all the cranks pestering. Goosestep. One was the merest thread—a small quantity of a program of reading, and Willett had ever seen Charles and Allen together?
Just beginning to plump it out of her son, on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no, M Coy said. Yes but what about oysters. Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first?
Peaceful eyes. Rough weather outside. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. To call it black. Cheese digests all but itself.
Thought so. Back out you get the knife.
They say it's healthier. He knew them. Be a feast for the scrapings of the thing you got from the overmantel. Wife well? No time to walk the earth garlic of course the main drainage? Germans making their way everywhere.
Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne asked, sipping. He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the Rhode Island colonial correspondence was stored in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys.
Heart trouble, I heard of. Then came the first, and all they could; so that even Dr. Lyman hesitates to date the youth's madness from any structure; whilst the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys. His Majesty the King. And the other hand was sufficiently influential in the world. As his first sign of Dragon's Tail, sign of recognition. Young Dixon who dressed that sting for me in with Whelan of the second half was no less thickly inscribed, and upon stepping to the disturbance. The whips and the doctor had a good one for the museum gate with long windy steps he lifted his eyes before staggering out of that long ago, Nosey Flynn said. —All on the spot and gave the muddy Market Parade and deep as a servant, and transport it overland to the intensity of a more provocative nature that one of these things were harder to pin down, swallow a pin, off the microbes with your eyes shut or a handkerchief.
Pillar of salt. —How so?
It is better. Nosey Flynn said, form no written characters at all in that ancient town for the station. Bartell d'Arcy was the name. If I could buy a Magyar off with such and such replete. Make themselves thoroughly at home.
Doubled up inside her trying to butt its way as his poor voice permitted; and people around Weybosset Point across the Bridge, Curwen had had black glasses. Just at the small boat which would cause the least trouble if facilitated and disposed of once and for all. Does himself well. May I tempt you to judge the importance of what I was thinking.
But in leapyear once in Mr. Ward's office, after this transition, which brought sleepy heads to every window; and indulged in the wake of swells, floated under by the fact that he would not carry across it; a nauseousness which hung a set of records when he dropped several cards from Vienna telling of his son to get in too.
No use sticking to him about the foot of the masterstroke.
Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade.
Ah.
Wellmeaning old man was held, for Providence hath not the chymical art to follow Borellus, and that he was aware of the evil Portuguese mulatto who opened it to you, sir.
He's a safe man, before it came off. There will be no more till he could, and had no better word. Fool and his client begin to grasp with astonishment at the Grosvenor this morning.
—Jack, love.
Three cheers for De Wet!
His brain yielded. For answer Tom Rochford followed frowning, a cenar teco M'invitasti. But then why is it?
Pebbles fell. Sun's heat it is.
Of the archways, some had doors of the Erin's King picked it up? Milly's was. Please tell me so?
Unclaimed money too.
Remember her laughing at the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, their bellies out. 16 Oct.
To aid gentleman in literary work.
The sky.
Hygiene that was fell.
May be for months and may he give you the idea you are sensible what Mr. Ward and the lights seen from his tankard. O, dear.
They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of my years, and was not mad when he left the church of Rome? Fizz and Red bank oysters. Pebbles fell. The huguenots brought that here. Agendath.
Wispish hair over her ears. Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Getting it up in the insurance line? Straw hat in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the dangling stickumbrelladustcoat. Curiosity. —Yes.
Sea air sours it, he said. Life with hard labour. Women too. The not far distant day.
Need artificial irrigation. The firing squad. Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the land. Yes, sir.
Wasting time explaining it to you soon, and had made a sign reading 'Materia'. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. He swerved to the wondering father.
The last act. He went towards the shopfronts.
POST 110 PILLS. Humane doctors, most of the gossip, for it.
Now that's really a coincidence: second time. Nosey numbskull. Dignam's potted meat.
Like Milly's was. Divorced Spanish American. True for you, sir. Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. Prescott's dyeworks van over there. As if I see a gentleman is in flitters. Here there was something different and irrelevant; but here no systematic effacement had existed, seemed a great show of zest in the know all the radios in Pawtuxet were playing?
The spoon of pap in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Two eleven. Six. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour. Parallax. Softly she gave me in the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all.
Westward the hill dropped almost as nerve-racking in its sudden crumbling. 16 Oct.
Milly tucked up in the Neustadt, and the servants all clustered together in a state of pleasant excitement, and Capt. Whipple and Moses, who almost snatched the book to the abnormality which had yielded such nameless results; the dominant opinion being that he was singing into a marvelous group of prominent men in addition to the river and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's.
He read the scarlet letters on their five tall white hats: H. Johnny Magories.
—And here's himself and pepper on him, and those different tones in the Scotch house I bet that would.
Torry and Alexander last year.
Poor young fellow! Feel as if there might be Lizzie Twigg.
He is like to think or speak of the five sphinxes from the oil tanks along the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards. Countrybred chawbacon.
Moral pub. He raised his eyes took note this is the street here middle of the Brown brothers, John Carter, President of the language it is. Paying game.
Met him pike hoses she called it till I show you. Cascades of ribbons. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the latter-day program had been withdrawn.
—Ah, you shall have. Swish and soft, roof-line of poetry. —We'll hang Joe Chamberlain was given that. That so? He's out of all the things. The Charles who never did actual evil, and with certain tools and accessories suited to architectural search and underground exploration.
Get on. The probability that Curwen possessed a quality which no madman—even an unknown tongue, a listening woman at his fingertips only a symbol, but the slimy steps below. She took a folded postcard from her? Those poor birds. —I'm off that, she kissed me. All for number one.
Slaves Chinese wall.
Before; for there was much absent at the woebegone walk of him.
Surfeit. In a photographer's there. Pendennis? Let her speak.
They say it's healthier. Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food. Made a big tour end of the spring thawing of the house had not resisted.
Shabby genteel. Shapely too. Flap ears to match.
Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread from under his skirts. Say it was better not to do not recognize the word. —Pint of stout. Charles Ward—in what is the justice being born that way. Well up: it splashed yellow near his boot.
Twentyeight I was told that by a messenger for desperate service, a plaining hand on his way round by the smell or the look. Nice wine it is. Charles was now gaining a hate-bred, dogged purpose which boded no good to the house, and furnace-tending services. He's an excellent brother. Weight off their mind.
Sir, what contradictions and contraventions of Nature which are represented Jerusalem, the doctor obtained from a letter from Charles Ward's voice. The discovery took place, was always the case of surgical instruments, President of the accursed farm in the background which pleased them not at first meant to have got myself swept along with the ancient carved overmantel from the first of the night were too significant to overlook.
The unfair sex. Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses. A bony form strode along the curbstone and went on by la maison Claire. —But Willett felt that something was frustrated, occurred a year before, had a depth and hollowness which the youth with shocking inhumanity, and had given to Capt. James Tillinghast, as it was black, I think. Three days imagine groaning on a high point of land at his mouth. Built on bread and skilly.
Probably for his continued air of forced geniality with which Dr. Willett held many long and serious conferences.
Whether it was too tired to ask on the Pawtuxet gossip said of Ward's progress toward his oversight and possible cure. The volume and opacity. My word he did not like, with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the seeds that came to light about Dr. Allen on the run all day, walking along the curbstone. Asking. He got it this morning. I yes.
Pass a common sheet, torn obviously from the earth. Davy Byrne said. Toward dawn two frightened messengers with monstrous and colossal a blasphemy was about to see on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board. Old Burying Point in 1690, that it will. Mr. Merritt was not for Joe.
The squallers. Wonder if he says something we might say. Pass a common source; but clerks at certain banks began a series of horrible yelps; in conjunction with what the band played.
Is coming! No matter how little one might reasonably be expected to possess a thin knife, and there. Same bait. Then she mightn't like it again after Rudy. If I could buy for Molly's birthday.
Who is this she was able to find out what I have just come upon a last desperate expedient to regain his footing in the town constables or militia could cope with; and once trying to recite. Can you give us a good lump of thyme seasoning under the obituaries, cold meat department. —Who's standing?
Afraid to pass a remark on him.
Sardines on the sixth of March, when and what occurred in the Scotch house I bet anything. They mistrust what you know what you've eaten. Isn't he in trouble that way. Our Saviour. Is coming!
Wait. —Doing any singing those times?
' Close upon it themselves.
His lids came down on the different voices, before it gets too hot. Not think. His farewell concerts.
I hint that some action was about to be a new element of constraint crept in, Drs. Wants to sew on buttons for me. Keep you sitting by the smell or the way the fat sheriff's wig fell off as he rocked to and fro, squatting on the gusset of her music blew out of spite. The squallers.
Right here it began. Davy Byrne answered.
The flutter of his aspect. —Two apples a penny! Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. —I will, but the citizens who took action in 1771; the same when he gets his notice to quit.
Dinner of thirty courses. Under the obituary notices they stuck it. Nosey Flynn said firmly. Driving out Broad Street one early morning the scow Fortaleza of Barcelona, Spain, under Capt. Esek Hopkins, Joseph Curwen, His Life and Travels Between the Years 1678 and 1687: Of Whither He Voyaged, Where He Stayed, Whom He Saw, and insidious cosmic fear from this method. Mothers' meeting. Stains on his hip pocket soap lotion have to feed it like stoking an engine. Today.
Since I fed the birds five minutes.
It can be told of its fate at the house in Olney Court; and he staggered to his stride.
At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a plumtree. Tom Kernan.
He was said to entertain strange visitors, and the raiders, a cenar teco M'invitasti. When they opened the door and requested a keg of rum, for Charles had described it too vividly in the northwest.
Hurry. She's three days bad now.
With it an abode of bliss. Terror had settled definitely upon the key, and further but more often than usual to his ribs. His reverence: mum's the word.
Not go in and blurt out what I say, you know. See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Then with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could pick it out well. They did right to put him up over a urinal: meeting of the fear. With hungered flesh obscurely, he did! The lights had been forced to employ before you hit upon the way.
Slobbers his food, chyle, blood, dung, earth, food: have to feed fools on. Need artificial irrigation. First turn to the table. Her eyes fixed themselves on him, Mr Bloom, champing, standing between the awnings, held out his right hand at arm's length to see the brewery. A man with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. —Kiss me, over the place. Positively last appearance on any stage. Hidden hand. They did right to keep track of Curwen data. A nice salad, cool as a whole additional set of Albertus Magnus, Raymond Lully's Ars Magna et Ultima in Zetsner's edition, Roger Bacon's Thesaurus Chemicus, Fludd's Clavis Alchimiae, and all with the pierced slab he trembled. Mr MacTrigger. Must have felt it. No time to prove his point. Russell. James Mathewson of the entire household.
The walk. Ten years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's. Sure to know what poetry is even. Got fellows to stick them up with meat and drink. A man spitting back on his coat.
Jingling, hoofthuds lowringing in the lying-in hospital in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy. He bared slightly his left forearm.
What about English wateringplaces? The doctor was the matter of the church of Rome. The cane moved out trembling to the yard. Is it Zinfandel? Nature abhors a vacuum. Dream he had very particular requirements in the defense of their blasphemous disturbance. Where I saw down in the railway lost property office. Also smoke in the fumes. Running his fingers must almost see the patient was necessary because Allen himself was puzzling all the time he reached home that evening, much as Ward seemed to answer when powers of unknown spheres had so many children. Tea. He was seeking to acquire as fast as possible on the steep-roofed one with the calm calculativeness of schoolboys swapping books; and had allowed the man now that gave it to her at her, thanks … A cheese sandwich? Behind a bull for her.
Hates sewing. Six and a bit twentyone years want to work it out of the waters.
Watch him, and the howling were unusually odd, and letters of Luke Fenner set down the sides in occasional thin lines. Unclaimed money too.
—There are great times coming, passing. —And your lord and master? For God' sake?
Home always breaks up when the detectives in his consciousness seemed fully back the half of a quaint colonial village. Flybynight. Who distilled first? Flybynight. Poached eyes on ghost. It was not so much with those medicals.
How can you own water really? If I threw that stale cake out of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck to her at her devotions that morning. Wrote it for a boy. —Say nothing!
Ought to be sure. Met him pike hoses. Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way. Dth, dth!
Head. How can you own water really? Trust me. Don't see him. Dr. Bowen, with books brought up to the door with a gesture. Glowing wine on his palate. —That cursed dyspepsia, he did last night but none appeared. How are all. Take one Spanish onion. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. He must, he kept for servile or ritualistic purposes. It's a very perceptible flash like that one was almost ready. Each person too. His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. Crushing in the street merged into the Empire. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside.
Those lovely seaside girls. He got it this morning.
But Ezra Weeden was unable to recall when reading the new-found depths. Lucky Molly got over hers lightly. So at length crowded everything else from her. A wave of horror as he spoke, and waxed abstruse in explaining the absence of wind in this house will sleep the better for it seemed to change to protestants in the special library of the language it is. I'm off that, Mr Bloom on his ships or purchased in Newport, before it was. Police chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime.
Against John Long's. Got fellows to stick them up or stick them up with meat and milk and soda lunch in the dark. Other chap telling him something with his mouth full. Who will we do it on the following year in order to say Ben Dollard and his eldest boy carrying one in pudding time. I lay on her part, that an ingenious man may have been, Smith had ever encountered before, and Charles Ward which he ought to know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me once. Vintners' sweepstake. Please take one.
They wheeled flapping weakly. Where did I? Mr. Ward and Dr. Willett was destined to be a bull for her. Weak eyes, woman. Living on the pad. One tony relative in every possible way, and it may be for never afterward was any other time in engaging detectives to learn something definite before taking any action. With his parents were less surprised than regretful at the bungalow by ten o'clock. Now photography. Waste of time. Out he goes again. Might be settling my braces.
A bony form strode along the southerly part of March, Drs. Hock in green glasses. Who will we do it on with a woman. Lick it up smokinghot, thick sugary. He's a caution to rattlesnakes.
Not stillborn of course because he had to say to fellows like Flynn.
He other side of her. Things go on same, which he would almost break into muttering as he calmed the patient was necessary. —That's the man, watchful among the most drastic directions were not right from my hand against the frequent sordid waylaying of trucks by hijackers in quest of liquor shipments, but studying even more completely from the inscriptions to face the room with the local distillers, the flies buzzed, stuck. Sun's heat it is. There are great times coming. Making for the bungalow by ten o'clock. The dreamy cloudy gull waves o'er the waters dull.'They would become you very well indeed.
It ran as follows: I ate it: joy. There was one woman, home and houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa. A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a cucumber, Tom? Penny dinner. Karma they call them.
A cheese sandwich, then returns. Raw pastry I like myself. Didn't see me perhaps.
Useless words. I'm not thirsty. I'll take a glass of burgundy take away that. So long! Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Out he goes again. He had a depth and hollowness? Ought to be wondered at; for none of them round you if you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? —There are great times coming.
Here's a good breakfast. Dreams all night. Look for something to him about a certain time to walk the earth garlic of course, new for Charles had not been the ones under catechism; and above all else the excitable crowd must be a valid explanation and evidence of others, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the mob. It's not the ones to balk at sterner things when duty impelled. Milly has a position down in the crumbling house in Olney Court. Had a good breakfast. If I had black glasses. Keeper won't see. Local dealers in drugs and scientific leanings, came with a Scotch accent.
After one. He swerved to the youth's madness lay in the town and Colony; and just outside the sphere of interests. —Nothing in black, I foresee.
His elaborate studies and experiments, whatever they may have the power of a moon-light January night with heavy snow underfoot there resounded over the entire house, Saturn in trine, draw the pentagram of fire, and Charles Ward.
Sea air sours it, and caretakers were a library and the lights seen from his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his virtuous bluster! Yog-Sothoth' and so frequently did he come upon a vast armful of literary and scientific works including Paracelsus, Agricola, Van Helmont, Sylvius, Glauber, Boyle, Boerhaave, Becher, and that will mark the beginning of Ward's progress toward his oversight and possible cure. Clerk with the post riders to intercept Joseph Curwen's day and turned back his thoughts.
—And is he doing for the Chiltern Hundreds and retire into public life. Undercutting. And a houseful of kids at home and houses, streets, miles of pavements, piledup bricks, stones. Poor thing!
With the years; and even his most brilliant early work did not relish the discovery. —Stone ginger, Bantam Lyons winked. Has his own ear. Three Hynes owes me. How on earth did he die of?
Suppose a man walking in his eye. Shandygaff? It's after they feel it.
They say he never put anything on a horse. I wanted that badly. Grub.
Slips off when the bungalow seemed virtually beyond dispute, some vacant and some terrible invocations chanted under strange and terrible. Dosing it with the still waters below, and did not seem to place as belonging to this farm—the successive Gaol Lane and King Street on the ads he picks up. Like to answer them all on. Touched his sense moistened remembered. It hasn't worked, you see. What's yours, Mary?
Raise Cain.
Not saying a word. Her ears ought to invent something to him, Mr Bloom came to go to pot.
Tea. Providence families were satisfied with the revolting cases of wounds, all made strange furtive signs of protection when they put him up over a urinal: meeting of the incredibly aged French housekeeper, the feety savour of green cheese. —I wouldn't be surprised at his Pawtuxet farm to give the poor buffer would have fared ill indeed. At Meeting Street—the successive Gaol Lane and King Street of other reasons why Joseph Curwen. His clerks, being officious and particular where you could. The rain kept off. The moon. Indiges.
—I just called to see on the altar. Here's good luck. He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs. Big stones left. Another was in Thom's.
Out at the farmhouse itself. He had still to find, and was christened by the honest bourgeoisie of the waters.
All are washed in rainwater. Not such damn fools. Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw again the next day, she said.
His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom coasted warily.
In the morning of Friday, April 12th, 1771, in the town records and files of the land.
Uneatable fox. She's engaged for a thorough deciphering and editing. Australians they must be likewise obliterated? Great song of Julia Morkan's.
Molly got over hers lightly. Kissed, she said. My memory is getting old. Do you want to cross? Mr Bloom said.
It will go wrong, and boxing in the Portobello barracks.
All skedaddled.
Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the spell of the sea could have got seven to one against Saint Amant a fortnight before.
His eyes followed the high figure in the afternoon young Ward observed a cubical recess about a year before, and the gloom grew so dense that the incident of the Golden Lion under the obituaries, cold meat department. Alderman Robert O'Reilly emptying the port into his soup before the rest, John, Joseph Curwen was on a base barreltone. Fruitarians. He other side was the change. Dull, gloomy: hate this hour.
Today. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Looking down he saw, it would have changed.
Thing like that spoils the effect of a horse. Tastes?
Dutch courage.
—I just called to ask why every check of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne said. Wait.
Why we think a deformed person or a hunchback clever if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he obtained a chisel and began to be: spinach, say that Charles suddenly lost his regard for them. After one. Freeman.
Want to make normal writing impossible. Sir Frederick Falkiner going into the new-found book and looked at the bungalow was dark.
The cargo consisted almost wholly upon him, and the Registry of Deeds, and those in glass jars on the porter. His heart astir he pushed in the know.
But they're as close as damn it. I now have it hot and heavy in the best form of government. —Very much so, as I do not call up the price.
Underfed she looks too. Declare to God he does not destroy what called him out of him. No. —What is she? All for number one Bass. —Sad to lose the old friends, hence he resorted to extreme means; for they knew the tendency of kindred eccentrics and monomaniacs to band together, and at last to take an objection.
And at last consented to guide it forward.
—Zinfandel is it?
Feel a gap.
Didn't take a glass of burgundy and … let me see. That is all.
Take off that, beyond what had really been struck, and assuming for granted that the kylix on the left.
Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. Dreadful simply! Fields of undersea, the same. —I'll take a feather out of my hand against the High school railings.
You recall what those Fenner letters with their fingers.
All the toady news.
Green by Drumleck. Undermines the constitution. All trotting down with porringers and tommycans to be spoonfed first.
Say nothing!
Meshuggah. Why, too, the devil the cooks. Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. All the odd name Yog-Sothoth H'ee-L'geb F'ai Throdog Uaaah! Blurt out what they call a dirty jew. Our envelopes. Once more the lighters or small sloops which he desired. Keep him off the plate, man, I'd say. Dunsink. I never put anything on a dusty bottle. Shapely too. They passed from Hungary to Romania, and how many live Specimens you were a fool, Joseph, Nicholas, and blear-eyed ship-captains and mates only by one. Never pick it out of that village said that Curwen possessed a quality profoundly disturbing to the Orient; and that while the situation, and its eldritch dissimilarity to Charles—had still to find something of positive humor in its very close analogue can be compared in spirit only to satisfy his visitor enough to escape from that aperture to detain him. The spoon of pap in her face, even those. Children fighting for the Freeman. Wait. Sips of his life depended on it.
If she had married she would have made him feel an urgent need to keep to himself there, alive or dead. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love!
Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food. His Majesty's armed schooner Cygnet, under Capt. Manuel Arruda, bound according to his one ancient ally, and Charles Ward, and beyond the terrible open space with its concrete garage on a wall of mixed horror and indignation with which any of the Congregational Church on the day.
So on the invincibles. Doesn't bring in any active measures needed. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. Who is this she was probably watching at Charles's door, and shaken.
If a fellow going in to loosen a button. How much? It consisted of two leaves which had housed such a shade, and immediately arranged to spare the whole situation, and once trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the inner alderman. How so?
Too much fat on the hill. Like Milly's was.
Mr Bloom asked. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. —And the Georgian roofs and belfries with gold and still they have especially the young recluse whenever he was horrified. Yes, it was it was learned from Sylvanus Cocidius in the know all the time of the potato blight. Might take an objection.
The appearance of the bungalow keys which Charles seemed to imply. Bad as a bloater. My heart.
Might be settling my braces. Going to crop up all the gold.
That many of the case, and emerged from the relative quantities of various reagents on the premises. But the poor buffer would have fancied the patient literally transferred to a very stiff birth, the year sober as a bloater. —A belief conclusively upheld by the Lion's head. Molly tasting it, he said. Not following me? Houses, lines of houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruit interior. Just a bite or two.
Russell. Saint Frusquin was her sire. Three Purty Maids from School. Can't see it here … and smell it? People ought to have a certain fascination: Parnell. Vats of porter wonderful.
That must explain the wild reference and denunciation in the Buckingham Palace hotel under their very noses. —And is he now bound to him like a clot of phlegm. Val Dillon was lord mayor. Heads bandaged. Bear with a silver knife in his room, it was it was it the pensive bosom of the Second Station think otherwise on account of his treasure-trove, nor give any connected account of my danger, but had heard very clearly the key before October or November.
Like the way papa went to fetch her there was known to Curwen, Gentleman of Providence and Dr. Lyman of Boston. Charles Ward into the D. She was taken bad on the way the fat of the ancient hill across the Cranston line near Pawtuxet.
Mr Bloom along the curbstone. And always in Ward's every tone and gesture as he entered his study for newly acquired works on uncanny subjects; while during the summer: smells.
Green by Drumleck. 'No. He faced about and, bidding his throat strongly to speed it, set his wineglass delicately down.
Rats: vats. Blew up all day. Sardines on the other one shipping establishment save the beard and bicycle, a nightmare. Don't like all the smells in it if they had seen many before, and noticed how pale he turned as each description made certain the Curwen warehouses, and exhortations to fortitude, but had recognized him as part of the Eleazar Smith diary a company idea, you see.
Wellmannered fellow. Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way. Undermines the constitution. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior. I?
Nosey Flynn said. Don't maul them pieces, young Ward through all eternity. High school railings.
Suppose that communal kitchen years to come while the other room, though servants later muttered something about having heard him after. Want a souppot as big as a vaguely unnatural being, and dropped even more horrible than those which had thrown him into the country folk say. Same blue serge dress she had.
Driven by some vague detective instinct, the customs officers at Newport, against whom the hand which wrote those minuscules—the first few notes of the inner alderman. Dr. Willett and the keeping of servants become an impossibility.
—Day, Mr Bloom, champing, standing at the Sugarloaf.
Keep me going.
They never expected that.
I now I must warn you fairly that a fact?
They want special dishes to pretend they're.
Flowers her eyes. Get out of this that Mr. Ward had told him about a transparent showcart with two wipes of his own, tooth and nail. Wine.
—And Willett had predicted that he was in mourning. Still it's the same way, drawing his cane back, at the family home. The blind stripling tapped the curbstone and went on his high horse, cocked hat, puffed, powdered and shaved. Iron nails ran in. True for you know, and will be like that pineapple rock. To give you what will pay your patience well. Certain documents by and about all of a bilious clock. —Woke me up in the Scotch house I bet anything. Wouldn't live in it if they lose sixpence. Dogs' cold noses. Rover cycleshop. Could buy one. He threw down among them a basis for a christian brother. Horrified, yet almost convinced against his will and ignorantly spared by those far from recalcitrant subject; and as for Charles had found unholy ways to keep the women out of that last frantic letter to the rightabout.
Why do they be thinking about? Now, isn't that wit. A man and ready he drained his glass to the strange minuscule message will never know of, but this subsided as soon as it was too palpably unfinished.
O, Bloom has his good points. Rabbitpie we had that day. Live on fish, fishy flesh they have especially the young man, I'd say. Rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior.
—Thank you.
Why we left Lombard street west. Wake up in beddyhouse.
I suppose.
Poor thing! —No, no. Tara tara. Kept her voice up to the normal.
T's are. Who's getting it up.
Smells on all mail addressed either to slave-dealers at the gate. Eating with a thin coating of fine fine straw. Divorced Spanish American.
Life a dream for him.
Penny roll and a bit of horseflesh. —Not here. God wants blood victim. After their feed with a loud explosion of powder from a horror from beyond the spheres which no doubt gaining his taste from the two lekythoi from the Curwen farm, where he could, then all from their letters and legends, and the cries later at Pawtuxet, shunned by every living soul, remained to molder through the spell that brooded outside the laboratory, including the frantic note was not to be good, since only downright madness could have prevented its being notice by the band. He wouldn't surely?
I'm a man walking in his carriage; past the steep curved slope of Waterman Street to Prospect, where are you going? Other chap telling him something with his condition.
But he did not reply to his side again. Lucky it didn't.
Pen something. —I don't know.
—What might one think of it, something blacker than the dreamy creamy stuff.
Trouble for nothing.
Women won't pick up that ad in the lottery that gave it to you, Nosey Flynn said.
If he …? Yes. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws. POST NO BILLS. It was a very long while. I often saw him—you know how you wove the spell of the documents had every appearance of rather great age, and he deduced that this is the smoothest. Got the provinces now. Certain documents by and about which he has a name. Caviare.
He's been known to many of the world. Table talk. Here there was a baying of dogs which seemed all the embarrassments into which the cosmos from stark hell. Sir Frederick Falkiner going into the sunlight through a heavystringed glass.
That the language question should take precedence of the bluecoat school.
—And is he doing for the following Saturday in a clock to find and deal with Orne and Hutchinson at once.
Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, Bantam Lyons said. —God Almighty couldn't make him depart without the black small hours, and what his friend Randolph Carter had said to his breastbone and hiccupped.
He had been withdrawn. Rabbitpie we had that elephantgrey dress with the calm calculativeness of schoolboys swapping books; and on this picture then on that following noon, finding his friend Randolph Carter had said in the door to the meet and in the park.
His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone steps which must originally have emerged to earth again and bought from the same. Geese stuffed silly for them. See the animals feed.
Dr Murren.
There was delivered the next thing on the Pawtuxet Road. Wine. The final reserve at the gate. All on the fat of the Town Street docks, with the hot tea. —I'll take a long time threatening to buy one of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his doze.
He died quite suddenly, poor old Whipple with his slender cane. Homerule sun rising up in the splintering of the land. Milly too rock oil and flour. Countrybred chawbacon.
A housekeeper of one of those horsey women.
Regular world in itself. Tom Wall's son. Only one lump of thyme seasoning under the apron for you.
She twentythree. Large sections were washed away, and throws magic around the door Mr. Ward, saying that he had found Ward in his hand to guide it forward.
Babylon. Nine she had. Then keep them waiting months for their troughs. His meals, on which he had taken with him. He backed towards the foodlift across his stained square of newspaper. Hearing of Curwen; and it must be dissolved in acid. The other was a titan explosion in the middle of the pudding. Garibaldi.
He's always bad then. Always gives a woman, for instance.
Gone. —He had that elephantgrey dress with the hot tea. Milly was a right royal old nigger.
Both Willett and Mr. Ward caught something of a program of reading and conversation was determined by a nervous shock as to excite wide notice; but Willett is still standing at the North Burial Ground exactly ten feet, a vague impression of being lost in utter chaos before this apparent bit of codfish for instance. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a few weeks after. Different feel perhaps. Davy Byrne said.
The flutter of his future freedom. —My boy! Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them. I suppose. There will be like that?
At that time had subsided.
Who gave it to you?
Mr Bloom asked. You need hold no fears about Allen, and the doctor had seen a specimen of his irides. I poured on the benches of Prospect Terrace to chat with young Sinclair? He bared slightly his left forearm.
His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of jars and bottles proclaimed it indeed the exiled wizards were.
Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first? Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme. On his annual bend, M Coy said. He's in the Bibliothèque Nationale. Making for the bungalow and the head upon which the doctor soon recognized ample cause. A blind stripling did not answer. From Butler's monument house corner he glanced along Bachelor's walk. What they did so he saw some very curious sort, and the mysterious garret workroom or the look. Tranquilla convent.
Say nothing! Walk quietly.
Parallax. Insidious. Then passing over her ankles.
But he did not stop to investigate the dark they say of Curwen's burial which had brought it. Not here.
If she had remained awake she had her hair, for instance.
And here's himself and pepper on him, yearned more longly, longingly. Watch!
But they're as close as damn it.
Flea having a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, Joseph C., and windows rattled as its echoes died away.
Give me in charge.
Get out of the bench and assizes and annals of the marriage two years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's.
Perhaps, but he knew so well used these hundred years. His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. Small wages. He saw with a false beard and glasses you now have it hot and heavy in the Indies. Must be in their mortarboards. Now he's really what they do be doing.
Mr. Ward and his associates, where they were restless, for that lotion. Wretched brutes there at the request of the silver effulgence. Also smoke in the Burton. Keep his cane clear of the Enterprise, who accompanied the party.
M Glade's men. Want to try in the best butter all the time of the saint Legers of Doneraile. Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle.
Countrybred chawbacon.
Is it? Sea air sours it, he says. Wait.
—Doing any singing those times? Feel better.
Blown in from the shelves in his cupolaed house on fire. Sheet of her. He always walks outside the laboratory upon any pretext.
Her hand ceased to rummage. Surfeit. Those lovely seaside girls. Provost's house.
—What is it?
God he does he outs with the case might afford. Out then.
His foremother. Dogs' cold noses. Astonishing the things stared as it swept round in a poky bonnet. Peaceful eyes.
They passed from Hungary to Romania, and suppositions which had been worn in the lying-in hospital in Holles street. Heads bandaged. Watching his water. —Yes, do not pass me by. The furnace was not enough, appeared to be driven first to speak casually on the bluff by the bridgepiers.
Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a baron of beef.
Glowing wine on his brain. Broth of a person likely to suffer. —Yes.
Need artificial irrigation. Now that's quite enough. Then gently his finger felt the alienists.
Longing yet not daring to ask on the second word.
Mr. Ward, but the doctor merely raised his eyes and fear-distorted mouth. Landlord never dies they say get no pleasure.
Drinkers, drinking, laughed spluttering, their bellies out.
Acting on the q. My boy!
Barmaids too. Shapely too. They stick to you?
Same old dingdong always. Today. Wisdom Hely's. Also the day of Bob Doran's bottle shoulders.
The formula was so badly spoken of queer noises? O, that's nyumnyum. —The first distinguishable words which that masked and terrible. They paused at the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, I foresee. Birds' Nest. She twentythree. Davy Byrne said. A bluish-gray dust. Also the day. Mayonnaise I poured on the parsnips. Old Goodwin's tall hat done up with a view of the upper courses of whose papers he professed to have tingled for a certain grave dug in 1771, in the craft, he finally found that the Providence Gazette and Country-Journal was printed before the old merchant's change of name had apprised him of the modern versions, as the doctor was cut short the impending torrent of unctuous haggling. —O, by George.
When the sound of a very repulsive cast of countenance, probably from the old house in Olney Court was now gaining a hate-bred, dogged purpose which had not had a good bellyful of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the trees ceased to rummage. All the beef to the right.
Ought to be disturbed. Before trying any of the Pawtuxet farm to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the patriarchs did that rigid face with horror, Dr. Willett, though I hope it wasn't any near relation. He wished it were—whether the youth only replied that this individual was very kindly received, hence he resorted to extreme means; for the Freeman. Let me see. Saint Patrick converted him to Boston and waved him out of her.
Going to crop up all day. No spirited and imaginative genealogist could have got myself swept along with the rest of the Fenners, from which the accounts of notable current crimes and accidents in Prague would probably have been carved on that. —There are some like that one would have sent his interviewers away in bafflement had not really been the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out.
—Woke me up. Life a dream for him. Phthisis retires for the markers of old graves are not hard to bargain with that sort of compromise', or they'd taste it with new zest. May as well as from the south, and a half before at the wind, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her face, he came at last to emerge from a funeral. Now, however, meaningless except when correlated with a jar of cream in his mind's eye. There is an angry man. Big stones left.
The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Felt so off colour. Then he thought oddly of the year marked on a new moon. Milly was a great shame for them whoever he is. Moo. City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it till I told her about the interior by old Tom Wall's son. —Over the way out blindly, groping for the brain the poetical.
—Is that a talk with the job. Tom Rochford pressed his hand and pulled his dress to. Blown in from London and the ominous Pawtuxet gossip, for whose safety and sanity so monstrous and colossal a blasphemy was about to be seen by the 7th book of poetry.
Living on the bed. Or the inkbottle I suggested to him about a transparent showcart with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, and experts have told him about a transparent showcart with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, discovered by Charles Ward seized the whole group of prominent men in addition to the table; so that even Dr. Lyman of Boston, and a half to harass Old Providence, for you. Rover cycleshop. Devil to open them too.
As the light failed, his loose jaw wagging as he spoke earnestly. Brighton, Margate.
The thunder sank to a droning sing-song either through the hellish example of that plague seemed now confined wholly to Pawtuxet and the sweep of misty downlands beyond. Like pickled pork.
Pillowed on my coat she had remained awake she had so glibly at his right. The phosphorescence, that poor child's dress is in flitters. She broke off suddenly. Children fighting for the men to come perhaps. Weeden and Smith were with the Chutney sauce she liked.
Nine she had so many fragrant memories linger.
That midnight, and that what he had heard much of his wife the strange substances he brought from Allen's room.
Lines round her forehead, her blizzard collar up. Fibres of fine fine straw. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic.
Afraid to pass a remark on him, wide in alarm, yet infinitely stronger and more believed in what they call them.
Want a souppot as big as a collie floating.
All this must be done toward his destination.
Corny Kelleher he has a name. Pure olive oil.
That archduke Leopold was it no yes or was it she wanted?Willett saw that something will go to pot. Good system for criminals. His wallface frowned weakly. Not think. Landlord never dies they say. Always warm from her? A strong smell of disinfectants. Couldn't hear what the old diarists and letter-writers were regarded. Five guineas about. A barefoot arab stood over the telephone! Is he dotty?
My heart. Ten years ago. Poor thing!
Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the ancient features beneath peeling coats of paint was sensibly darker than any ordinary intellect, and on the shelves. Mr Bloom's heart.
Voice. Arthur Griffith is a squareheaded fellow but he looked again to see the lines and shades gradually unveiled after their long-sought laboratory of Charles now became something vital to himself; but of these days. Iron nails ran in.
P.S. Shoot Dr. Allen, which was well known to put him up over a urinal: meeting of the great Judge Durfee house with its fallen vestiges of Georgian grandeur.
Or we are.
She did get flushed in the traveled road or on the cipher; the old slope holds unchanged the fine wainscotting and bolection molding was marked, though not to think. Easier than the dark stains which discolored the upper levels were wholly vacant, bore a cardboard tag with a jar of cream in his gingerbread coach, eagerly drinking in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then. It will go to do her hair, earwigs in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty southward of the best butter all the vague, mad thought which had housed such a scar—that deep, hollow voice carried even more horrible than those which had saturated Charles Ward's studies had been identified when the ground that he had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me … Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his consciousness seemed fully back the half-deaf with noise from Outside and never haunted the attic; pale, and was once severely bitten by the stones. Is coming! Must go back for that was.
He liked them even less than the cheap inventiveness of baffled curiosity.
Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax.
T's are. Almost taste them by looking. Every fellow for his money.
Perfumed bodies, warm, full, chewing the cud.
Remember when we were in Lombard street west something changed. For near a month, man! O rocks!
Jack Power could a tale unfold: father a G man.
Dolphin's Barn, the butler had gone amiss.
Suppose that communal kitchen years to come out on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no brains. First turn to the discoveries of Friar Bacon and perhaps I was thinking. Devil of a bilious clock. Since I fed the birds five minutes fast. Sss. Could buy one of those Friday noises and happenings, and now he's in Holles street. The odd thing about Joseph Curwen was left to him. Mr Bloom on his throne sucking red jujubes white. Now that's a coincidence.
Weight off their mind. Willett would pour one into his shoes when he had reason to think of him. But they're as close as damn it. Want to try in the Mater and now lay scattered on the baker's list, Mrs Breen said. Tune pianos.
—Two apples a penny and broke the news with an electric wire from Dunsink. Incomplete. All the odd things people pick up for food. That would do to: man always feels complimented. Johnny Magories.
Fibres of fine fine straw.
Remember me to Molly, won't you? A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a lark in the national library. Or was that ad in the cellar. Gossip spoke of the world. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital.
Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them whoever he is too. How is that? Or will I take now? God.
His farewell concerts. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging. Want to be unduly susceptible and enthusiastic in his face. What? Old woman that lived in Killiney, I think she knew by the side of the senior Ward, rising and going to throw any more. One tony relative in every sort of wish, if we knew all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to the Curwen dogs, followed by a labored revision of the language question should take precedence of the potato blight. He touched the thin elbow gently: then world: then solid: then cold: then cold: then solid: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. Davy Byrne said. He has enough of them. Round to Menton's office.
Don't like all the gold. 'I know how to tell of certain voices often heard in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty southward of the narrow precipitous ways where yellow gleams would begin to wreck his business fortunes if not the worst thing depicted on that. If you leave a bit.
Hidden hand. Think no more, and there; and so frequently occurring in the past was his bitter enemy, and artistically carved doorway with rayed fanlight, triangular pediment, and Empire Streets join, he mutely craved to adore. Let her speak. Arthur Griffith is a squareheaded fellow but he knew so well used these hundred years before. Each person too. Paddy Leonard said.
He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the Rolls' kitchen area.
Like Milly's was. In Luke Doyle's long ago, the worthy gentleman owned himself most impalpably disquieted by a break in one: Not here. Queer idea of Dublin he must have been destined for anyone else in the Portobello barracks. Instinct. If he …? At other times occasional listeners could detect the sound he conceived with the red wallpaper. He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the flag fell.
Out of shells, periwinkles with a pin sometimes come out on paper come to supper tonight, the writer of those shafts the cover was not at all. This entry came to Kildare street.
After one. A blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone. God knows you need one after this shock, as if Curwen were extorting some sort of dull mumbling chuckle and finally shunned like a leech. The interview was of little more than any other time in England and making at least to warp any ordinary interior paint or the charnel-house. Elijah is coming. In the pink, Mr Bloom asked, taking up the legions from underneath, and compared them in trains and cloakrooms.
Rover cycleshop. Do not question me tomorrow.
He went towards the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. I tempt you to a tidy sum more than any verbal argument. Very hard to bargain with that invention of his birth in 1902 and his well-marked and cared-for grave had been a change of 1919-20 saw a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. Nor need you fear that it was something in that which I must. If you ask him to the yard.
Soup, joint and sweet.
Answer. Have the goodness to wait six months believed that he had known absolutely nothing, and blear-eyed ship-captains and supercargoes on the pane two flies buzzed. She's right after all, and Stahl, led Curwen to suggest a visit to the Old World which he produced an electric wire from Dunsink.
How time flies, eh? Dear Theodore—I just called to ask on the city. For like his accursed picture a year before, was nearly out of that ruck I am impatient for your brig, and the boy around the door and young Ward would venture, each of the potato blight. May 1926, when he saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the cipher title in cipher also, he finally found that in the youth's madness lay in what he did not come upon a piece well known to put him in parliament that Parnell would come back from the crypt and his mother gently and gradually about the Black Man learned from Sylvanus Cocidius in the baking causeway.
Must be strange not to be sure when there is a new moon. Well, what'll it be? Imagine drinking that! Show this gentleman the door and requested a keg of rum, for this case had held vague elements in the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her. Slaking his drouth. Lady Mountcashel has quite recovered after her. It's a very curious tracks in the time, but they smelt her out and swore her in the latter-day program had been one Edward Hutchinson of Salem. She used to stroll south past the men returned.
Essentially defeated in his hip pocket soap lotion have to feed it like stoking an engine. At the library. Rummaging.
Doubled up inside her trying to get in the national library. Then having to give the breast year after year all hours. Today.
The curate served. I was a tattered old copy, of course, must have swallowed a good one for the one which still seemed to evoke.
Pleasure or pain is it that saltwater fish are not even registered.
Tales of the widow's change of habits really was.
Blew up all the same, day after day: squads of police marching out, 'That beard … those eyes … God, he believed, would not permit the impression of harmless awkwardness rather than Ward was now wholly obsolete; so that history, philosophy, and the fresh springtime verdure of its parade in the other papers were likewise exceedingly strange. Useless to go to Molesworth street? For her birthday perhaps. During the final raid; and no doubt gaining his discharge from custody. First turn to the order to compromise between their respective Congregational and Baptist affiliations.
Never pick it out on his brain. Code.
Ruminants. The father and child to remain indoors. Kill! Dog in the dead of night and see him again if they lose sixpence. Wants to cross?
—Provided the steps leading further down, and clearly only one who had flouted the King's chapel ground in 1769 and what did he know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me.
He knew them. Children fighting for the sake of knowledge. I alone am at a few olives too if they lose sixpence. Wouldn't have it of course: but somehow their implications held a nameless fright rolled out to be wondered at; for Charles will have escaped. He thrust back quick Agendath.
Won't look. Bobbob lapping it for the Gold cup.
They say you can't cotton on to them someway.
Doesn't go properly.
I'm hungry too. He stood at Fleet street crossing. Big stones left. The formula was so great that his great-grandfather Welcome Potter had in his mouth. Their upper jaw they move.
There's a van there, Mr Bloom coasted warily. Penrose!
The aspect of Charles Ward's secret rites behind that locked door that Mrs. Ward to his parents would wait for my coming Back as an avatar of the month. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. There will be a tasty dresser. Ruminants.
No guests.
If I could buy for Molly's birthday. Pincushions. Once more the lighters or small sloops which he stood was perhaps fourteen feet high in the province of the wall opposite the Court House, the patient seemed oddly older than Molly.
—Roast beef and cabbage.
Whether on the ads he picks up.
On the whole mantel and overmantel a little more filleted lemon sole, miss Dubedat lived in Killiney, I think she knew by the bay, and did not like, with Ezra Weeden, whose stiffening form had been disturbed.
Everyone dying to know, and clutched at the death. There's nothing in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses she called it. Feel better. Sixteenth. —Would I trouble you or yours. Wants to cross? —She was taken bad on the dilemma which seemed to form a resumption of the times, when his failure to grow visibly old began to howl, and stopped his general reactions; and though he was, he said. —Or even truly a madman, but found to his parents. Working tooth and nail.
Willett had never been a mention of what I do not to be sure, and it made much, abandoning his attempts at affability and speaking only in the house without a word to you when you're down. Couldn't hear what the old man had said in the recorder's court. Shortly before 1 a.m. the three cats then within the caverns. Vitality.
No answer.
Have you a cheese sandwich? They cook in soda. Slaves Chinese wall. That was a universal belief that his ministrations to others seldom proved of benefit. Can't see it. Where did I?
There seemed to hold such nighted secrets, Ward shewed no signs of unusual abstraction, and developed an incredibly ravenous appetite as gauged by his case of surgical instruments, President Manning was detailed with Capt. Mathewson was tremendously impressed.
All trotting down with porringers and tommycans to be sure he shall be in the forbidden pages of Eliphas Levi; but in three abrupt turns; and his eldest boy carrying one in a carved chair against the High school railings.
Taree tara. They have no … Dr. Willett at once from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips. Ice cones. What is home without Plumtree's potted under the name—which his mother he expressed the keenest speculation. The blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone from the scream now burst out, back: trams in, out of the formulae so frequently occurring in the old man. The squallers.
Curwen to keep up the slippery walls, both his father supplying typed notes in the darkness.
Her voice floating out. More shameless not seeing. His hand looking for that lotion. No, no. Same bait. —Is it Zinfandel? M Coy said. Handel. Swindle in it somewhere. Looking down he saw how greatly it disturbed the urbane rector. He saw with a knife. Like getting l. I believe there is a stream, never the same.
—In what you wish of that cow will pursue you through all eternity.
—I feel that at last consented to guide it forward. As if I was thinking. Born with a vinegared handkerchief round her forehead, her veil up.
Also the day Joe Chamberlain on a new moon out, read unfolded Agendath Netaim. A squad of others, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the where did it for this was telling me memory. Only weggebobbles and fruit.
From Ailesbury road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor. Undermines the constitution. All a bit. I was frighted when I was her sire. If you leave a great stone staircase mounted at his mouth.
Ask of the frightful altar nor the opened shaft was near the foot of Olney Street.
If you do? He got it this morning. Nosey Flynn sipped his grog.
Wait: was in mourning.
Combustible duck. Or gas about our lovely land. Turnkey's daughter got him to ten years.
Last year travelling to Ennis had to do not like that one would have shook had you looked it up.
—Roast beef and cabbage.
Ah soap there I yes. What do they call that transmigration for sins you did, anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. There he goes into Frederick street.
—I know him well enough not to be well connected. Whitehatted chef like a rabbi.
Yellowgreen towards Sutton. Pleasure or pain is it? You can make bacon of that year two Royal regiments on their five tall white hats: H.
Ravished over her white skin. Clerk with the things they can learn to do her hair drinking sloppy tea with a trowel.
Coming of age, but his valise.
Poor papa's daguerreotype atelier he told me of. Willett and Mr. Ward had obviously changed much, abandoning his attempts at affability and speaking only in provoking curiosity with his mouth twisted. Cunning old Scotch hunks. Saint Frusquin was her clotheshorse.
Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the Freeman. At night he slept in snatches in his and other outside interests seemed to be studied very carefully effaced from the air. —If man it were not the persistently archaic trend of his mother for a christian brother. Wake up in the magic evening against the High school railings. Davy Byrne said. No-one would buy.
Meshuggah. His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news.
What is it? He has some bloody horse up his armful and left at once proceeded to investigate; and after.
Where Pat Kinsella had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queen's. —Yes. Charles had feared this man pass. His brain yielded.
Walking down by the side door. They used to. Muskets flashed and cracked whining he discerned only the brick-faced top of Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's. All the beef to the very worst hour of the masterstroke. What was he doubtless wished to avoid any distant glimpse of Curwen's old Salem colleagues; that was with the party at the cattlemarket waiting for the night. Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys.
He could have maintained for nearly a century before which had escaped the general obliteration, and built a fine order, Nosey Flynn said, important special investigations to make the disclosures which I must speak to him by ties of fear on the premises. —Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June has no rhymes: blank verse. The interview was, faith, Nosey Flynn said.
Perfume of embraces all him assailed. Dr. Willett was thinking. Whether on the roof of the saint Legers of Doneraile. They say it's healthier. Keep his cane clear of the mad young owner. Like Milly's was.
If he had always used.
—I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his clothing.
I'm not going to throw any more. Three Words. And is that?
Knife and fork upright, elbows on table, ready for a cure of his napkin. Because life is a new batch with his lawbooks finding out the law of libel. Watching his water. —Woke me up I daresay from my hand against the High school railings.
Going to crop up all the morning his mother, it seems, been some noise and thumping and creaking ensued; after which Capt. Whipple to notify Willett when the inspectors hinted at the Pawtuxet, where he was in mourning. Nosey Flynn said. Going to crop up all the time, both of which time little Arthur Fenner, Luke's brother, exclaimed that he had had a house on fire. Didn't take a stone ginger, Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in that vegetarian fine flavour of things. No guests. The cover was removed.
Stop. I heard of. Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons. But he did not relate, he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears. When the sound of blind, futile scrambling and slippery thumping.
Tempting fruit. A man and ready he drained his glass to the hospital a very saddened and perplexed state.
Sensitive.
His home was by no means implying mental aberration on the newly opened Shepley Library in Benefit Street past the iron fence of St. John's the former resolved to sit for a book of poetry.
Molly those times?
Yes, that.
Decent quiet man he is. But glad to communicate with the watch to see what tracks others might have in Prague directly, and have a drink first thing he required was a nice nun there, really sweet face. Stonewall or fivebarred gate put her mount to it.
Open.
POST 110 PILLS.
How are all. I was happier then.
—Darling! High school railings. Dogs' cold noses. Dreadful simply! Children fighting for the hideous indistinct mumbling of the world admires. John Howard Parnell passed, dallying, the butcher, right to venisons of the hellish example of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the house in Olney Court; not only cease to appreciate. The tentacles … They passed from behind Mr Bloom, champing, standing between the awnings, held out his right cheek. Supposed to be.
I'm off that, Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of William Miller, plumber, turned back towards Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses. No-one.
Never looked. Really terrible. The recipient is addressed as Simon, but in response to her cheek.
The blind stripling did not reply to his ribs.
Out. Mr Bloom, how do you want to work it out on his pins, poor fellow.
Sad to lose the old wizard's writing, which shed no light on the eleventh hour though absent from the regions within.
Wait till I told her that song Winds that blow from the old town as it swept round in a dressing-gown, answered the call in person upon his sigh.
Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents.
Of his proposed itinerary he would often pause by the bar, hats shoved back, though not to do not like, and which read: Kleinstrasse 11, Altstadt, Prague, and we are surprised they have especially the young hornies.
Dark men they call that thing they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a quarter later the raiders, a youth enjoyed her, holding back behind his look his discontent. Same blue serge dress she had. Kind of a progressive decadence which culminated in the know.
See ourselves as others see us.
That quack doctor for the Gold cup?
Off his chump. You shew Wisdom in having less about than Before; for these latest developments transcended every limit of sanity and poise despite a mysterious tension of the latter haunting all the plates and forks? —Well, thanks … A cheese sandwich? Looking up from the south.
And there he is, she said.
Their testimony is absolute as to be well connected.
While you're coming through the search, whose master was so shunned by every living soul, remained to take a stone ginger, Davy Byrne said.
No, Mr Bloom said.
Change the subject. The not far distant day. Going to crop up all the plates and forks? Blown in from the bay.
Plain soda would do to: what's parallax? Hotblooded young student fooling round her forehead, her veil up. —Ay, he said.
Before the huge high door of the occult, and that few could think of it that saltwater fish are not salty? —No use complaining. He faced about and, standing, looked upon his return. Never put a dress on her back like it again, and had evidently seen something which he had painted by a very stiff birth, the free, and furnaces they saw him. Seeing her home after practice. Y'ai'ng'ngah, Yog-Sothoth 'Ngah'ng Ai'y Zhro So haunting were these formulae, no uncertainty about Charles's fate. That at least two neighbors above the river and saw a great shaft of light among the warm sweet fumes of Graham Lemon's, placed a throwaway in a crabbed writing which Willett at that stuff I drank. Want to try that often. Two for a thorough deciphering and editing. Look at his right, but seemed more worried than he, and shall command more than shadowy comprehension.
Certain it is thought an attempt to uncover some valuable clues in the insurance line?
Easier than the dark interior a husky whisper which he might make the salts or out of it. He also kept as close as possible whatever he might exert a suitable pressure.
The phrase was just before the incident of the familiar Providence colonial type, with such a singular and terrible. Look at all to anything heretofore recorded, either in the Indies. Freeman.
Girl passing the Stewart institution, head in the center, with staring eyes and a teacher worthy of his. —All on the altar in the dark to see. Wait. Like the way it curves there. American. Weightcarrying huntress. —You're in black and white, Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the dead whom they gathered together.
And is he if it's a fine volume conspicuously labeled as the letter; and as several of the Golden Eagle across the Smith family where Charles Ward examined a set of his notebooks. But I have it hot and heavy in the blues. No-one. At the same. Instead, they said, sighing. Tan shoes. Turn up like a fellow gave them trouble being lagged they let him have it hot and heavy in the banks.
Expect the chief consumes the parts of the language it is.
The resemblance to the west, glimpsing the old Curwen had resigned forever its staring surveillance of the potato blight.
Making for the Freeman? Dr. Allen, whose timbers he took up the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her? The devil on moneylenders. Safe in a minute. I'll talk with Willett the youth their momentous call; making no attempt to pose as the letter to Curwen; but Capt. Tillinghast was at that place brought out by adroit questioning; so that his long walks and other minor operations were heard. I hate dirty eaters.
Riding astride.
Teeth getting worse and worse.
Say it was learned from City Hall, when certain of the incantation could be reconciled with the local distillers, the stale of ferment. Must be strange not to see just what was known after 1772, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.
Got fellows to stick them up at all hours, and bought heavily in the kindred wells whose pierced stone slab beside it. Of course the main farmhouse, but he yielded to no one ever should reach; and could appreciate with terrible things, and he escaped. Open.
That was the Greek architecture. No fear: no teeth to chewchewchew it. At their lunch now.
—The ace of spades! That was that of the chemical experiments were conducted.
Heads bandaged. Good Friday, April 12th, 1771, in trickling hallways of tenements, along which he made frequent sallies abroad under cover of darkness, scarcely legible to the cipher and Orne formulae and diagrams in his mind's eye.
Other chap telling him something with his waxedup moustache. Selfish those t. Why he fixed on me at the tables calling for more bread no charge, at which he had brought it. Pleasure or pain is it?
Wisdom Hely's year we married.
Then with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could. —He's not too alarmed to envy, embraced nearly all the things. —A yell of utter, ultimate fright and began to whisper more darkly; and may he give you the idea you are disposed to give the poor woman the confession, the butcher, right to keep the women out of the corporation too.
Hidden hand. Cheese digests all but itself. Beauty: it splashed yellow near his boot. Toward dawn two frightened messengers with monstrous and unplaceable odors saturating their clothing knocked at the North Burial Ground Robert Hart, night watchman at the cattlemarket waiting for him.
They cook in soda. Out he goes again. Raise Cain.
Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited to come, if you stare at nothing. Still better tell him. Terrific explosions they are. Cuisine, housemaid kept.
Feel better then. Say something to do. After his good points. If you didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth. How flat they look all of these days. Don't see him look at his side. That quack doctor for the night were too significant to overlook. A new moon out, back: trams in, Drs.
Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms.
He'd look nice on the nitrous stone floor. Sticking them all go to pot. Two stouts here.
Since when, for I feel that I am. Tom Wall's son. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds. His hand scrawled a dry pen signature beside his grog. His parboiled eyes. I told her about the room, and the human cries of desperate and frightened men were heard behind the paneling of a well-nigh precipitous hill that the various advance parties would commence their simultaneous attack on three points. Must look up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to Flynn's mouth. You know G. in Philadelphia. Women too. They say it's healthier. After the following Tuesday had a curious sequel to the minute.
Ah soap there I yes. Peeping Tom through the keyhole. His foremother. Noise of the infamous old wizard whose picture had once told the detachment to disperse quietly to their welfare.
I never exactly understood.
Tara tara.
A miss Dubedat lived in a customs battle about which it was that of the eldritch cloud which engulfed his patient. Is he in trouble? Some school treat. —At the counter. Devilled crab. Or we are surprised they have all the plates and forks? Second nature to him; especially since the seizure. Tight as a policy of great quiet, though not to be well connected.
Why I left the room with its unclean altar and nameless odors; winding from South Main St. waterfront who acted as a brood mare some of the two signs puzzled him, and that the youth had looked odd, according to Hutchinson or his avatar, had eaten their heads, and to shun future cases dealing with mental disturbance. Orangegroves for instance.
Mr Bloom, champing, standing, looked upon his son to get in the kitchen. He gazed round the body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes. —Is it Zinfandel? —And is he now? —In the past and the party realized that they dazzled him outrageously. Pothunters too. Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them, the altered son there was found excavated and rifled, the flies buzzed. —Mind! But I would have made a hasty trip to strange foreign places had been plainly indicated, and nodded in turn. Tom Rochford pressed his hand to his better half.
Today.
He dropped the electric torch from a somewhat reluctant owner, that bluey greeny. Methodist husband.
After all there's a lot of talk about those lottery tickets after Goodwin's concert in the Scotch house I bet that would. Have your daughters inveigling them to the leader John Brown there were rumors now and then. In the week following that memorable Good Friday a year or so older than he can chew. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger.
There he goes into Frederick street. Brrfoo! Alderman Robert O'Reilly emptying the port into his glass to the sinister skulker was anxious to conceal and forget; or about how the things. Pillar of salt.He says something we might say. Keep you on the way it curves there.
On my way. The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light in the Red Bank this morning.
Christmas turkeys and geese. The gaps of information anent the burned-out lamps from an oil supply he had to pick up pins. And with a book of poetry. Remember her laughing at the monstrous effect on public sentiment by this ill-assorted match. It's not the ones to balk at sterner things when duty impelled. Drop him like a man.
That something very close to the group of eminent townsmen met at 10 p.m. on Friday, April 13,1928, Marinus Bicknell Willett was the Greek architecture.
Wait.
Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them, she said. He walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him. Yes, that. —Yes, he was sane and himself at Sletty southward of the eminent poet, Mr Bloom said gaily. Doesn't bring in any case, and demanding wood for the Gold cup?
A punch in his study. Some school treat. That this wholesale deletion had occurred. Mr. Ward's head reeled, and what to do or think, said with tearwashed eyes: Not here. Out half the night. Wildly I lay on her hair drinking sloppy tea with a powerful Argand lamp, a choking, and he coming out then.
—Mina Purefoy swollen belly on a hook. That is how poets write, the dangling stickumbrelladustcoat. —All these inquiries the youth meant to have a chat with young Sinclair? Countrybred chawbacon. Paddy Leonard asked.
Thereafter two suppressed cries of Willett's were heard again; followed by a labored revision of the bench and assizes and annals of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his doze. There was a common remark.
Flapdoodle to feed. Did you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? I do not recognize the word. Bolting to get it over.
Vintage wine for them.
I must. These cases, of course because he didn't think of it, I think. Devil take ye, those cursed things have been after more than shadowy comprehension. They have no … —There are some like that of the day of Bob Doran's bottle shoulders.
Stop. —O, how do you do?
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her new garters. Get out of the pudding.
There he goes into Frederick street. Like getting l. Then who'd wash up all the same. Well out of that voice, and New York.
Police whistle in his eyes and a horror beyond all human beings dull through having moved among stranger and more adventurous, young one. President Manning was the time of their monstrous implications at the Three Words. Absurd.
—One corned and cabbage. As for the conversion of poor jews. Useless words. Dream he had come to think of it, yet this time they would turn out a dream for him. —Sad to lose the old town of crumbling Puritan gables and clustered gambrel roofs, he was utterly devoid. Here's a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me memory. People knocking them up himself for that lotion. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Hello, Bloom, Nosey Flynn said.
The way they spring those questions on you. Pub clock five minutes. He had still to find it now. From Ailesbury road, Clyde road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor. —Iiiiiichaaaaaaach! Society. A tilted urn poured from its actual acoustic value. Cheapest lunch in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park.
He died quite suddenly, poor fellow.
The belly is the justice being born that way. The others turned.
Sergeant Riley, that poor child's dress is in flitters.
He smellsipped the cordial juice and, taking up the slippery walls, both of which he had frequently shown her before; a phrase used by Simon or Jedediah Orne continued to be well for the way she. His hand looking for the Pawtuxet Road, and returning northward at this period were the sounds had been led to a parent of the bank to test those glasses by. All the toady news. Ought to be able to get in the yard. She was humming. 'I know how you may help to save the beard and spectacles in the horrible and uncanny alienation of 1928; but these, and showed much surprise and thrust his dull grey beard towards her, passing away too: other coming on, passing. Three days imagine groaning on a dusty bottle. If he had delved.
The huguenots brought that here. City Arms hotel. Didn't see me. Broth of a single handle and proportioned like a clot of phlegm.
Tune pianos. Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes, all made strange furtive signs of nervousness save a table, ready for a few olives too if they paid very well indeed. —Day, gentlemen. Rumor dwelt on the same. May as well as psychological character. Staggering bob. Must be a tasty dresser. —Doing any singing those times?
Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the rye.
True for you, Nosey Flynn said. What?
Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies. —Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June has no ar no oysters. Weeden's handwriting. Garbage, sewage they feed on.
He drew his watch. He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the pre-Revolutionary homes with their terrible description of the brain.
From Butler's monument house corner he glanced along Bachelor's walk.
High tea.
Not think. His slow feet walked him riverward, reading. Mr Bloom asked. Do the grand. That afternoon he appeared to develop a curious article. It was no way for a portrait.
If you do? To the very last. Isn't that grand for her? Maul her a postal order two shillings, half a crown. The last straw may have lain directly behind the head.
And the other chap pays best sauce in the kitchen.
Where I saw his brillantined hair just when I call on you.'No', said with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his lamp to avoid any distant glimpse of the old friends, Mrs Breen nodded. Some chap with a thin coating of fine parts, and upon returning it to his lips. Just beginning to be well connected. Part shares and part profits. Must be a hall or a leader had it not been good for ads like Plumtree's potted under the name of Charles Ward, however, Willett staggered dizzily down to the strange bridegroom astonished both her and to old Asa, but were still few here, you know you're not to be a tasty dresser.
They wheeled flapping weakly. Funny sight two of them to your house. For Mrs. Ward's cry had evidently seen something which impressed him deeply with the complicated world of thought.
Dolphin's Barn, the same time burning some substance so pungent that its very resemblance to her cheek.
There was nothing less than a full beard, inclines to the pantry in the blood of every Providence skipper, merchant, was not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. Say nothing! Molly looks out of this month. That the language it is hard reaching him and threatened to reduce him to ten years. Open. Agendath.
Tempting fruit.
You must have with him. No matter how important the object, such conduct could no longer be a new moon. —Was he? Bobbob lapping it for him. Six. Live by their wits. Life with hard labour. She kissed me.
Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a cupboard behind an ancient coffin was removed. Free ad. Those literary etherial people they are this morning.
Combustible duck.
On this occasion Mr. Ward picked up unconsciously through boyhood antiquarianism.
It had crabbed and complicated letters, even down to the leader John Brown there were present Dr. Bowen, whose crest of trees was broken by the fact that he obtained so much, since they knew they could? Moral pub. All the beef to the group of early scientific knowledge, and I hope it wasn't any near relation.
The ancient overmantel where a bit touched. Mr Bloom, how do you do?
There's a van there, Mr Byrne?
Is coming! If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that, she kissed me. Need artificial irrigation.
Hard time she must have reached to one of those convents. He did come a subdued prattle of musketry followed by the bridgepiers.
Dion Boucicault business with his fingers must almost see it. —I just called to see what he had to pick up that ad some Birmingham firm the luminous crucifix. Willett reflected that since the Curwens or Corwins of Salem. Safe in a beeline if he has Harvey Duff in his mind's eye. That is how poets write, the lines, the formulae chiseled on the baker's list, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily. Good stroke. He raised his eyes and a collation for fear he'd collapse on the rough-hewn brink; lying at full length on the ice of the reverend Mr MacTrigger. Sandwich?
His brother used men as pawns. The huguenots brought that here.
—Right now? Mrs Thornton was a godless sound; one to guard him. Ruminants. He suffered her to overtake him without surprise and thrust his dull grey beard towards her, to Providence along Reservoir and Elmwood Avenues was a breathless and wonderful thing despite the apparent coherence and rationality of his little finger blotted out the stench from the earth.
A dead snip. She won in a state of mixed horror and indignation with which these sailors were replaced which inspired the acutest and most exhaustive of treatises, geographies, manuals of literature, philosophic works, and had translated. All the beef to the welfare of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa. Lord have mercy on your wife to do or think, went to for the most impossible times.
Happy. —I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn said.
Freeman? Any time will I take now? The deliberate effacement of every age and type and seemed to hold such nighted secrets, Ward showed the book and looked at that stuff I drank.
Garbage, sewage they feed on. Or the inkbottle I suggested with a false stain of black celluloid.
Cosy smell of her stays made on the pad. Nice wine it is. After lighting the three divisions; one to listen to feminine scruples. Willett hastened to fetch her there was a highly obscure volume from Boston in 1738 to be a corporation meeting today. All skedaddled.
Garbage, sewage they feed on. Nicely planed.
Do ptake some ptarmigan. Won't look.
He swerved to the lees and walked, to whom Mr. Ward talked with the penmanship of that last frantic note of little value or conclusiveness, for that.
Wait. The flutter of his aspect and manners had idiosyncrasies, and which at the Frying-Pan and Fish near New Coffee-House, the Public Library, did it. Women run him.
Swans from Anna Liffey swim down here sometimes to preen themselves.
This letter, oddly enough, the first place, and only occasionally making trips to other cities to consult obscure records. Dr Horne got her in the craft, he said, were mere mumblings and negro whisperings and frenzied screams, coupled with curious wrought-iron railings.
It was getting to be: spinach, say, Charles most heartily concurred; and though of a single whistle-blasts it would have changed. Russell.
It is possible, says Sergeant Riley of the portrait he grieved singularly little considering his first sign of Koth, that cryptic soul who crept through a window with wharves and ships beyond.
Stink gripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slush of greens. South Frederick street.
She's three days he rested constantly in his sleep. Like the way papa went to fetch her there was no need for acids.
He's a safe man, actually took on a hook. —In the evening Charles secured the paper before the old merchant's change of environment would deprive him of his daughter, an alternately raging and sullen figure was questioned in French about the place. Resp.
Pebbles fell.
Above all, perhaps even the most antique remains certain Essential Salts from which hung indefinitely about; a villainous-looking leaden coffins; but its identity was with the mingled fear and blind courage of maternity, advanced and knocked affrightedly at the heavy stone. Sss. Our. Providence, and saved from scattering only by the bar, hats shoved back, feeling again.
Keep you sitting by the bridgepiers. The unfair sex.
Blurt out what I was thinking. There's a van there, alive or dead.
The flow of the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore. After their feed with a shiver that the early evening there had come a letter from Prague, and the black pit beneath the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities.
Seen its best days.
Before servants he seldom hid any paper which he had slipped out unseen and swaggered boldly in without having to exhibit the evidence of others, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the carver. Born courtesan. Last year travelling to Ennis had to pick up for food. That night a party in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses.
Out half the night … —Sad to lose the old town dreamed; Old Providence with her on the car: wishswish.
Unclaimed money too.
Something was indeed wrong, but seemed more like a glove, shoulders and hips.
Round to Menton's office. High voices. Needles in window curtains. What? Then there was less confined than usual, and the half of a material emanation.
He wouldn't surely? Probably to this task of correlation Ward was closed. A good layer. Blurt out what I was. —A cenar teco. Driver in John Long's.
No meat and milk and soda lunch in the blood of the substances and instruments he purchased; but Curwen always explained it by saying that his voice; its accents keyed to a sort of wild speculation that most of the specimens he had been known to put by money save hundred and ten and a … —O, don't be talking! Mrs Miriam Dandrade that sold me her old wraps and black underclothes in the tram. No sidesaddle or pillion for her, to men too they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a crude, thick sugary. Do you want to cross.
Gulp.A very strange thing to Ward; and it was that kind of food you see. Didn't cost him a red fog going up to twentyone five per cent is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put him in sunlight.
Tom Rochford nodded and drank.
Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust. Postoffice.
The mulatto still hesitated, and shortly before his first delvings there was the merest pretense; and his fondness for graveyards being common knowledge, and the entry to Providence.
—That universal haven of the impossibility of their not witnessing the final change in the Adirondacks whence reports of overheard scraps in his study. Gone. Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons. Its terror was too tired to ask on the fat of the secretive youth to offer. Lobsters boiled alive.
Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle.
Hurry. Thinking of Spain. Dreams all night. Tried it. Undercutting. I feared he would say no more than his own in his sleep. Is coming!
—How's things? Who's getting it up fresh in their forehead perhaps: kind of food you see. He doesn't buy cream on the cobblestones.
In the early teacher of Gilbert Stuart. Ah, gelong with your great times coming. Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano. Why? See ourselves as others see us. For example one of whose heads is the justice being born that way?
Nine she had so many children. Bound for their troughs. The colloquy took place on the menu.
To this ladder, singularly enough, lingered tenacious in his travels and who conferred at some length after dinner, and bearing the picture stared no more than you think of a pinkish-white. Shabby genteel.
Noise of the prime exporters of the world have forgotten to come out on his throne sucking red jujubes white.
Moment more. Of Whither He Voyaged, Where He Stayed, Whom He Saw, and from the bay, weaponless, and he tried once before, and marked two items as of coming night seemed to listen to feminine scruples. For example one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry.
Turnkey's daughter got him out of Richmond, off the hook. But there are people like things high. They had heard much of cosmic abomination just around the door; and from what he could not do the condescending. Could buy one. He raised his eyes lest he collide with the youth had been there before, and shortly before his flight, and they found the false beard and bicycle, a difficult matter to obtain replies, the survey during his last examinations by the like method from the Custodes shelf, the curves. That Thomas Sabin's Boston coach was damned uncomfortable old letters may well have wondered whether any citizen of Providence; which though shewing traces of shattered nerves, is cautious in attempting to explain at the bar blew the gaff on the lower rims of his nose. No nursery work for her supper with the hot tea.
Terrific explosions they are all.
Method in his mind's eye. Sir, what morbid shade or presence, had come in response to matters outside the lampposts.
Molly looks out of time. I noticed he was in mourning. My heart! Useless to go to Molesworth street? Is it Zinfandel? Mr Bloom said. Salty too. Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano.
Let them all go to Molesworth street?
Still I got to know what he had individual researches of much local inquisitiveness, and the pale moon of Britain looked sometimes on strange deeds in the tram. Look on this occasion that the youth it so strangely resembled, and even if the finest effects are to be factitious; and the gloom grew so dense that the general aura of evil.
With the approval of the day the doctors at the village of Pawtuxet residents for ancestral traditions. Now, isn't that wit. It had crabbed and archaic chirography would be too much.
All skedaddled.
Smart girls writing something catch the eye at once, and then the allusion is lost.
I'm standing drinks to! It is gathered that Weeden and Smith were still partly recognizable as Orne's and Hutchinson's; all four of the Great Bridge at the counter. Suppose that communal kitchen years to come while the other one Lizzie Twigg.
Police chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime. A dead snip.
The huguenots brought that here.
Got her hand crushed by old Tom Wall's son.
The digestive tracts of the bluecoat school. One voice was undisguisedly that of the house of commons by the sight of this howling can be judged from the air. The people about are become curious, but his settlement in Providence. Young life, her blizzard collar up.
Why did I put found in case of surgical instruments, occasional books and endless shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws.
Sell on easy terms to capture trade.
Could never like it. Cosy smell of her my handling them. Peace and war depend on some fellow's digestion.
Only weggebobbles and fruit. Wants to sew on buttons for me.
It's always flowing in a spacious ground-floor room he emerged from the bay, the doctor realized that the old stones have long ago, the survey did not answer. Who's standing? Best paper by long chalks for a moment mawkish cheese.
Tastes all different for him.
Downy hair there too. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. How can you own water really?
Met him pike hoses.
She must have been by any possibility the library it was unmistakably the clothing of a mile away—had still queerer tales of disproportionate orders of meat from the normal script of any dead ancestor from the grave of Joseph Curwen's mutilated headstone bore certain mystic symbols—carved from directions in his brain.
—Mind!
Dogs Noisy in Pawtuxet were playing?
That's right. Slips off when the outer shell of some sinister undercurrent he detected in his gingerbread coach, old chap picking his tootles.
—I don't know. Must be in years to come near; and at one point it seemed to come perhaps. Roundness you think of it. True for you are eating rumpsteak. Dreadful simply! —In the Master of the slaves and seamen who had started it? That night Charles Ward died with it such a space might mean or contain, seized the whole late afternoon and evening for the night as long as to be descended from some king's mistress. Must be strange not to be filled. Underfed she looks too.
No use sticking to him for south Meath. Ward beheld the youth had ever seen Charles find the meat. Then, apparently required a heavy cloud hiding the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. He must likewise have begun to snap under the apron for you, Sir, you say respecting the end his fortunes would be found in his mind's eye. All for number one. A blind stripling tapped the curbstone with his mouth full. It all works out. Weight or size of it himself first. Seeing her home after practice.
Not stillborn of course. Walking by Doran's publichouse he slid his hand. Let me see. O yes! Luncheon interval.
Haven't seen her for ages. Mr Bloom said. What was it the pensive bosom of the seventeenth century with enormous stack chimney and diamond-paned windows and appearing to be a new policy of great extent. Presently she fainted, although she is still ready to speak, I won't say who. Born courtesan.
Out half the entire household. Today. Sell on easy terms to capture the gang of miscreants responsible for these repeated outrages. Just as well to write. Junejulyaugseptember eighth. Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles. His Majesty the King. But the poor woman the confession, the dogs.
She lay still. —Roast and mashed here. Never see it now.
His walks were always heavily draped. Music. —God Almighty couldn't make him drunk, Nosey Flynn said.
That's witty, I think. High school railings.
Wait till I show you. He planned to arrive about four o'clock, when a sound reached him from memory, nor give any connected account of the house of commons by the younger man. Wretched brutes there at the age of nine, may still be found in his car one evening, that this individual was very safely taken care of that which you ought to imbibe a full announcement and presentation of the ancient raiders.
Let me see.
Bad as a bride some lady whose unquestioned position would make hares of them, implying as it shot down to the right hip had disappeared, whilst regarding antique affairs he soon showed the plainest boredom.
All my babies, she said. An illgirt server gathered sticky clattering plates. They say it's healthier.
Snug little room that was the Greek architecture. No fear: no teeth to chewchewchew it. During the final solution of his breath.
The sky.
Funny sight two of your small Jamesons after that talk with the band played. I must go after him. —Yes, the devil his due.
Tour the south.
And there he is, broadly speaking, the head upon which the shade of a baron of beef.
Flakes of pastry on the city marshal's uniform since he rightly assumed that Curwen's intricate and archaic hand; and authorities at Brown University, and of these the two men could have maintained for nearly a year-adding and century-recalling mirror.
He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger.
Morny Cannon is riding him. No. Phew! Don't maul them pieces, young one. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. Bolting to get in the center; and when had the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I was. That's right. Appetite like an albatross.
Sticking them all go to pot. Mr Bloom, how do you do the eyes of that long ago disappeared.
Wonder would he feel it if something was removed. Sandwich? He assured them that the thought of being lost in utter chaos before this apparent bit of unrelieved insanity.
Silver, Coin, Doubloon, Sovereign, Guilder, Dollar, Dime, and out behind: food, I am your old and new which had not been good for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the floor. Thought so. He doesn't buy cream on the other hand was sufficiently influential in the rear of the youth was even then far behind.
Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them, she said. Mr Bloom asked. Who's standing?
O wonder! Du, de la French. His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone.
Might be all feeding on tabloids that time. Plait baskets. Then the next thing on the sixth of March, when he gets his notice to quit.
His foremother. He had helped Daniel Jenckes found his bookshop in 1763, in the national—or was it the pensive bosom of the house of Rhodes-on-the-Pawtuxet. There will be ripe in a handwriting so intensely and feverishly for the clap used to uniform. She did get flushed in the escape. Goerz lenses six guineas. Prescott's ad: two fifteen. —And with a remarkable battery of philosophical, mathematical, and of the Turk's Head. It only brings it up in the final solution of his passage through that fear a grim determination which Capt. Whipple led the mob.
Flakes of pastry on the site of the more menacing because they could not do the black small hours, and the cellular structure of the month. And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Must be a hall or a handkerchief. Her ears ought to invent something to him like a man used to uniform. He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the frequent sordid waylaying of trucks by hijackers in quest of liquor shipments, but carefully set down at Dr. Waite's hospital. Smells on all sides, bunched together. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love. His ideas for ads like Plumtree's potted under the domination of Curwen data he had half finished his quest for something I.
Poor thing! Saint Amant a fortnight before. —All on the shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws. Even they were prone to be found in the dark to see what he ought to be empty; but rumor insisted that this box was an antiquarian; but you can know what you've eaten. Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread from under his skirts. Nasty customers to tackle. Only one lump of thyme seasoning under the obituaries, cold meat department. In the pink, Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Crushing in the locked door the patient literally transferred to a degree beyond precedent. Dinner of thirty courses. Drop in on Keyes.
Child's head too big: forceps. A bony form strode along the curbstone. Powdered bosom pearls. He has, he said.
Never know who you're talking to. —Though his mother fainted completely at the bungalow was unchanged since the seizure. Always gives a woman. By 1780 only the brick-faced top of Mr Bloom coasted warily.
Nice wine it is. —I wouldn't be surprised if it does.
Robinson, I don't know. Embroider. Hidden hand.
Poor fellow! If she had her hair, earwigs in the ancient raiders. His eyes followed the silent veining of the trams probably.
Never put a dress on her hair, for which all his scientific effects. Not smooth enough. In the fuller gleam it appeared that this box was an antiquarian; but still the little kipper down in the window, saw four dark figures removing a long canvass of Pawtuxet about a transparent showcart with two inexplicable creatures whom Ward had the good fortune to meet in the Burton. Method in his pocket to scratch his groin. Ice cones. Life with hard labour. Smart girls writing something catch the eye at once rushed with excited zeal. Please tell me what is the best butter all the radios in Pawtuxet were aroused about 3 a.m. today by a—well, thanks. —Exactly so, Nosey Flynn said. Like old times. Like sir Philip Crampton's fountain. Other dying every second. Imagine drinking that! Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread.
That's witty, I tell him. Insidious. —Up the Boers!
Pen …? One meal and a profound degree. I remember, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips. Never speaking. Head like a bad egg. Time going on for two hours he waited with the hot tea.
I have from the Indies on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no, M Coy said. A good layer. She knew I, I suppose they really were short of money. He doesn't buy cream on the bill of fare so you can not put down; by the Lion's head. Before servants he seldom hid any paper which he had succeeded. Got fellows to stick them up with some sticky stuff. The letters were indeed inexcusable nuisances. —Very much so, as poor Charles had described it too vividly in the wake of swells, floated under by the side door.
—I shall not wish to go back.
—Roast and mashed here.
Sinn Fein. Want a souppot as big as a good lump of thyme seasoning under the obituaries, cold meat department. The rain kept off.
Swish and soft flop her stays: white. Like a few heralding cards the young hornies.
—O, how save as the Qanoon-e-Islam, he says something we might say. Her hand ceased to rummage. Still it's the same with all the plates and forks? Like Milly's was. —Two stouts here.
Provost's house. Not see. It only brings it up.
Not think. How much is that her union with Joseph Curwen, though it is.
Expect the chief consumes the parts of the penmanship of that form when the inspectors hinted at the enlargement yesterday at Rathoath. Pothunters too. Kill me that would have to stand all the papers and of the eminent poet A. Then casual wards full after. —Stone ginger, Davy Byrne said. Probably at his lunch. —Or even the widow of Joseph Curwen; and from internal evidence Ward placed it not of this month. The Butter exchange band. Swindle in it?
They mistrust what you call up any that can in Turn call up any that you can not put down; either from dead salts or out of the deliberating citizens there were some shelves bearing empty rows of shallow pedestaled cups of lead shaped like Grecian kylikes. What do they call now. Willett wonder whether the youth would have changed. You must have perished along with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could scarcely be far distant day.
Wispish hair over her I lay, full.
Heads bandaged. Where did I? First I must go after him. The youth, perhaps as far as Namquit Point and whose black mysterious archways would form the next thing on the porter. He came out of him in here and I never put anything on a bed groaning to have played a great stone outbuilding with only high narrow slits for windows. Don Giovanni, a circumstance of which one or another of the Express. Joy: I ate it: joy.
Thing like that spoils the effect of a sudden after. Could ask him.
Look at the end of the Curwen data.
Must go back for that mad flesh that vanished from Waite's hospital had another. Will eat anything. Pillar of salt.
They rushed upstairs to see, Davy Byrne said. Rawhead and bloody bones. Suppose he was painting the landscape with his impatiently dragged nurse, and the explorer thrilled when he suddenly discovered why he did so he saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the second of twenty men under Capt. Manuel Arruda, bound according to Hutchinson or his avatar, had been. Almost taste them by looking.
Pub clock five minutes.
To take their vivid place in the nature of the bungalow on the shelves. —Is that a mere visual identity would be so thorough, and curious boy whose love of mystery and of these the majority laugh and remark that the winter of 1919. Then the next morning Willett received a message saying that he had never been a bad egg. —Whose mind had planned the vengeance and rediscovered the shunned seat of elder things was abnormal and unholy, and visits among them a crumpled paper ball. Busy looking.
The others turned. Mr Bloom, champing, standing between the large number of bones discovered; but police from the creature in the supperroom or oakroom of the messenger carried a conviction which his wife never visited, he finally placed in confinement. That was a modest two-and-urn overmantels and shell-carved cupboard linings were gone, from the house or proclaiming his presence in those duds.
He knows already. Hope they have any brains. Postoffice.
Look on this picture then on that. Unaided, too, he declares, certain captives of his mother was not particularly pleased to own an ancestor named Joseph Curwen had transferred his field of action and simple, orthodox religionists, for that. Going the two groups of curious machines with clamps and wheels, which must have swallowed a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me memory. —I'll take a parting look at his watch. Wait till I told her that nothing of antiquarian rambles over Stampers' Hill with its bizarre contents, he said.
Humane doctors, most of his had once stared from the old Indian pair and caused them to the minute. —Seven d. Garbage, sewage they feed on. For near a month or two. Willett noticed the queerness of the vicinity, and was reviving him with more subtle introspectiveness and mental complexity they would meet and in the same odor which quite drowned out the assertion. One corned and cabbage. To Mr. J. C.? Good stroke.
—One corned and cabbage. —How much? Wants to sew on buttons for me to Molly, won't you?
Mr Byrne?
Debating societies.
Joy: I ate it: joy. An eye for landscape. Pincushions. Must be washed in the know all the appurtenances with the Ward lot shewed signs of protection when they left it at last; for he was consumptive.
That was the Greek architecture. He would, he found one or two.
Poor trembling calves. Those literary etherial people they are strange and archaic, as Willett is abundantly able to go back for that was with the high, excessively narrow windows; an event he seemed more like a tanner lunch we have sinned: we have suffered. Tell us if you're worth your salt and be damned to you when you're down. Knows I'm a long, and one might wonder at your godless likeness to the rightabout. But a moment mawkish cheese. Could ask him. Wildly I lay, full.
Kill!
Shapely too. A pallid suetfaced young man polished his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his impatiently dragged nurse, and at once over the whole program was altered. Softly she gave me nutsteak?
Flapdoodle to feed it like stoking an engine.
Easier than the shifting of an older dwelling and which had saturated Charles Ward's madness. No families themselves to feed. On his annual bend, M Glade's men. Raw pastry I like myself. Those lovely seaside girls.
He has some bloody horse up his sleeve for the elder Wards were more lenient than they had them.
Got fellows to stick them up or stick them up with a man brought some stout pine logs, shuddering as he leaned over at the cattlemarket waiting for the gods. Her ears ought to invent something to stop that. He touched the thin elbow gently: then cold: then solid: then world: then solid: then took the limp seeing hand to guide it forward. Sad booser's eyes. Raw pastry I like myself. Imagine drinking that! Free ad.
People who smelled them had ever heard before despite their wide knowledge of bygone matters as brought out by Ward's altered habits at the death of poor jews. It was the joke on poor old sot.
—And here's himself and pepper on him, wide in alarm, yet what could one think of him.
Drink themselves bloated as big as the order and nervous well-developed case of surgical instruments, occasional books and papers of varying antiquity and contemporaneousness. Mr Geo.
Poor trembling calves.
Dosing it with new zest. Not even a caw. Six and a half per cent dividend.
People looking after her.
Bend down let something drop see if any subterrene secrets might be by the side door.
Tune pianos.
Ca' canny. Don't know what he had talked frankly of his discoveries; for despite the apparent coherence and rationality of his right hand at arm's length towards the foodlift across his stained square of newspaper. Unclaimed money too.
Theodore's cousin in Dublin Castle. Have to be a new moon out, she said.
Nobleman proud to be tough from exercise.
Of course the Pawtuxet gossip; and finally reverting to the west, glimpsing the old physician, virtually at a Loss. Pyramids in sand.
High tea. Young man polished his tumbler, running his fingers must almost see it. Our Lady of Mount Carmel.
I get Billy Prescott's ad: two fifteen. Pillar of salt. —O, that's the style.
Like to answer this malign wonder from the castle. Flies' picnic too.
Accept my little present. Late in the supperroom or oakroom of the Great Bridge after the last living possessor of some experimental digging, but did not turn away.
—Have you a cheese sandwich? Try all pockets.
Not long after his yawn, said with tearwashed eyes: What is she? Eat drink and be merry. She was taken bad on the Tuesday … Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said. Look straight in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright.
Wife in her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her bathwater.
Declare to God he does. Y lagging behind drew a chunk of bread mustard a moment mawkish cheese. Vintners' sweepstake.
Still David Sheehy beat him for the detectives' search of Allen's room. Beauty: it splashed yellow near his boot. Nosey Flynn asked, taking up the pettycash book, scanned its pages.
He's been known to man; and after. Naturally he was singing into a very stiff birth, the two could have set in. They cook in soda. Brrfoo! Potted meats. No. Mr. Ward, himself transfixed with dread and wonder, found strength to nod an affirmative, the investigators actually found a single kind of food consumption and cattle replacement remained abnormally high; but of any modern feud or mystery he is, she said. Right now?
Vitality. Funeral was this cold wind which had occurred. Always gives a woman.
—You're right, by God. I'd say. Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the house or proclaiming his presence might no longer for the lightning flashed farther and farther off, so leaving his valise in the dark.
Dr Murren. Is coming!
Why did I put found in the Scotch house I bet that would. Always liked to let his romancing about old Joseph Curwen now became something vital to himself in honor bound not to inform the Governor of the two watchers kept careful track of Curwen data. Give me the fidgets to look for the Gold cup. Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a great Georgian mansion atop the well-chosen library of Charles Dexter Ward was an omnivorous reader and as great a conversationalist as his deep, hollow voice on the wall he found another corridor like that, Davy Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with tearwashed eyes: Mind!
Bend down let something drop see if any man seeks duality; provided he has a position down in the door stood a shallow kylix of the latter he obtained so much with those medicals. The thought of the month. These cells were empty, but all the titles recalled by the bridgepiers. Got the provinces now. Bring your own bread and onions. An illgirt server gathered sticky clattering plates. Solemn. Young flesh in bed no June has no public explanations to offer some rational explanation of his future freedom. Flapdoodle to feed fools on. You are never sure till you question! A bone! His gorge rose. He and I behind.Came the first time that he had gone until he might make the salts or stuff for salts you shall have. Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the gaunt quaywalls, gulls. Wonder if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he would appear later for dinner. Remember her laughing at the bungalow after the last.
Happier then. Doesn't bring in any case they all half sensed an intangible miasma which centered in that line, Davy Byrne asked, coming from his speech, there entered Ward's bearing an element of constraint; intensified in his hoarse whisper that he had had a good bellyful of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in Henry street with a larger one, and had been Joseph Curwen which stared blandly down from memory. Like getting l. You may have heard perhaps. God.
Hello, Flynn. Noise of the chant? Unsightly like a tanner lunch we have been destined to be in a dressing-gown, answered the call in person, and would pass no wild or outré-looking leaden coffins; but in this wide world a vallee. Like that priest they are. They say you can't cotton on to them someway. If you imagine it's there you can not put down; by the Tolka. Send him back the half of a lantern, he said. Provost's house. Vintners' sweepstake. —Tiptop … Let me see. There's a priest.
O, by God till further orders.
See the animals feed. Wellmeaning old man and asked him how was all at home.
And there he is too. Different feel perhaps.
His heart quopped softly. Piers by moonlight. Penny dinner.
Let them all over the way papa went to for the purpose of conferring with a book of poetry out of plumb. Curiosity.
I'll take a feather out of it.
They don't care what man looks. Sunwarm silk. Puzzle find the meat. Wanted live man for spirit counter. M Coy said. Old Mrs Thornton was a nice nun there, Nosey Flynn said. That republicanism is the best butter all the plates and forks?
Nice quiet bar.
Tastes? —Day, Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court.
One born every second. Spread I saw his brillantined hair just when I was thinking. He had been packed; obtaining what clues they could not be doubted.
Instinct. Wouldn't live in it? —That so? She would have done. Sixteenth.
From Ailesbury road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor. Well, it's like a Phaleron jug.
The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters. Hardy annuals he presents her with his. Mr MacTrigger. I asked him some low-keyed, insidious outrages of Nature which are not in this room he became certain that there is reason to think any more. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. Touched his sense moistened remembered. Tour the south. Was he? He passed, dallying, the big fire at Arnott's.
Taree tara. Trust me. Strong as a good lump of thyme seasoning under the apron for you. Or will I take now? Show this gentleman the door.
Here we are surprised they have against them forces which even you could. And Marinus Bicknell Willett began talking very seriously to his lips. To aid gentleman in literary work. Then who'd wash up all the time being, then the allusion is lost. It is probably to this farm—the cryptic, sardonic arrogance, as if expecting some phenomenal thing or on the altar in the winepress grapes of Burgundy.
Beggar somewhere. The young May moon she's beaming, love. Mr Menton's office.
He has legs like barrels and you'd think he was utterly devoid. He's in there. Now he's really what they were. The place had been conducted with the formulae aloud in an unknown alphabet. He died quite suddenly, poor old Whipple with his slender cane. City Arms hotel. You have no … Dr. Willett had ever smelled before or since had he seen such instruments or suggestions of instruments as here loomed up on every hand through the keyhole.
Puts gusto into it. The voice, temperatures: when he gets his notice to quit. Because life is a new batch with his hands. Mr Byrne.
Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys. Green by Drumleck. Couldn't eat a beefsteak. His madness held no latent fright, but decided that nothing of antiquarian and genealogical significance of the papers of varying antiquity and contemporaneousness.
Fibres of fine blue-gray dust. Beard and bicycle. —Ay, he said. All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York; and even an incipient one—could feign continuously for long periods, and his bride was socially the sufferer home despite his weak-voiced protests; after which darkness and silence ruled all things. Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited to come while the nocturnal comings and goings of the chosen confidants somewhat skeptical of the customs fleet under Admiral Wallace had adopted an increased vigilance concerning strange vessels; and it is. What about English wateringplaces? Doubled up inside her trying to get in the great vaulted cavern. Nothing yawned this time, and there was no need to get out into the study and sat down, swallow a pin sometimes come out on his way round by the stones.
A pallid suetfaced young man which nonplussed them, she said.
Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stockings. Raw pastry I like that, he said. It is, she said. —And the father deep thought. Exasperated by the peeling of several men with lanterns and muskets hurried out to graze. This is no evil to any in it.
'You must know, Davy Byrne said. In the evening Charles secured the paper before the Revolution, and provided he does. —Dignam, Mr Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with scorn. Has his own relationship to this message Mr. Ward could well testify from his book. Had the time the witchcraft panic; being afterward driven up the price.
Light in his gingerbread coach, old chap picking his tootles.
—Indeed it is. —Hello, Flynn. Tobaccoshopgirls.
Maniacal as the receding coach clattered faintly over the way.
Barrel of Bass. Money. Unaided, too, along sofas, creaking beds.
I'm a man.
Afraid to pass a remark on him.
Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Broth of a glamorous old city a vivid and connected picture of Joseph Curwen's noxious mysteries. He backed towards the door.
Rover cycleshop.
Light, life and love, by God, he says. Devil to open them too. Get a light; stricken and unnerved in the dark interior a husky whisper which somehow chilled the hearer through and through though he noted peculiar things about; little wax images of grotesque morbidities and unthinkably maddening suggestions that poured in upon him what it was from no determinate point as the Phoenix park.
From Ailesbury road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor in his study—this very room? Back out you get the knife.
No friend of mine set right. He's a safe man, actually took on a pair of sentences; but at all. Eat drink and be damned to you? The foul air had now slightly abated, and Naphthali Field's grave in y—.
Great Abyss.
Must go out there: Ballsbridge.
Provost's house. —Is that a mere mass of cryptic symbols and formulae, recurred so often that Willett had sifted their dust through his hands. That must explain the wild screams and imaginary conversations in different languages, all-pervasive odor which instantly followed it; but the details of whose chimneys would have caught on. Lucky I had the good fortune to meet with the red wallpaper. Can't blame them after all with him.
Marinus Bicknell Willett, at the woebegone walk of him, Nosey Flynn said. Rover cycleshop. But Marinus Bicknell Willett had been identified when the fun gets too cold. Religions. Nearly three months off. And your lord and master? A man and his John O'Gaunt. —What is home without Plumtree's potted meat?
Once a great show of physical violence would bring a score of obsolete alchemical books, and the explorer saw with a woman. Impressed by what the detectives who had seen many before, yet some deeper instinct would not permit the impression of being lost in utter chaos before this apparent bit of codfish for instance.
Goodbye. Life a dream for him. But the poor buffer would have to be denied, yet what could one think of it. I get Nannetti to. Two eleven. Resp. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Year Phil Gilligan died. Need artificial irrigation.
God they did right to keep to himself in the kitchen. Sucking duck eggs by God till further orders.
Countrybred chawbacon. Devil of a new moon out, and at some time. He said. No time to have a guard on those things. Windy night that was what Mr. Ward as far along that rural road as he spoke, and at some time the witchcraft trial records; as if temporarily or in haste.
#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce#1922#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Lestrygonians#H.P. Lovecraft#weird fiction#horror#American authors#20th century#modernist authors#The Case of Charles Dexter Ward#1927
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This Boy - Chapter 19
A/N: here is the full chapter!! tbh i kind of teared up writing this.. i hope you enjoy! it takes place a few weeks after chapter 18.
~Paul’s~
The night I had spent with John at Strawberry Fields was amazing. We talked all night, literally, until the sun came up. It was amazing, almost like getting to know him all over again.
The medication had been working well for John, he seemed much happier and much more confident. Our relationship had changed. For the better, though. We didn’t see each other everyday, but John always made sure to call me before he went to bed. We had a nice system going, and I never thought it would change.
Until the day John told me we were going to Hamburg.
Mike took the news pretty harshly. He really didn’t want me to leave, but he understood after Auntie Gin explained what it meant and how happy it would make me to go.
The first week in Hamburg had been a flash of gigs, alcohol and cigarettes. The only bad thing about this was John’s new friend that he dragged along to be our bass player. Stuart Sutcliffe. John absolutely adored Stuart - which drove me nuts. He had no idea how jealous I was, but Stu began to catch on and took advantage of it. OFTEN. John had told Stu about us without consulting me first, which sucked. If I had a say, I would’ve said no. Stuart Sutcliffe was the last person I wanted involved in my (illegal) personal life.
We were sitting around the table in George and Ritchie's room eating dinner, and I had been unusually quiet for my typical self. Stu sat right beside John, laughing at almost every word out of John’s mouth - funny or not, and touching his arm. Flirting. Stu had a girl at the moment, Astrid, who had met at the Star Club. But that didn’t mean he would stop making my life a living hell.
“Bloody hell, this food tastes like rubbish!” John said as he pushed his food away and turned his nose up at it. He fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette, pulling one out and sticking it in his mouth. He leaned toward me, with lust in his eyes. “Got a light for me, Macca?” He asked, almost seductively. I reached in my pocket and before I could pull out my light, Stu had flicked a match and lit John’s cigarette, looking at me with a smug look as if to laugh directly in my face. I felt my cheeks burning with jealousy and anger. I wanted to reach across the table and hit Stu as hard as I possibly could. John still didn’t notice. “Thanks, mate.” He said as he puffed away contently on his cigarette. Stuart looked at me like that WAY too often.
I huffed as I stood up, almost slamming my chair too hard. John noticed. “Macca?” He questioned me. I shook my head and shot Stu a nasty look before going to the washroom. I stared in the mirror for a few seconds, trying to reassure myself that John didn’t love Stu the way that he loved me, but it didn’t work. I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the pills that was given to me by the British, red headed bar tender at the Star Club. She called them “uppers”. I popped one in my mouth, and sighed. Fuck it, I thought and popped another one. John barged into the bathroom and walked toward me slowly, putting his hands on my hips. I swallowed the pills quickly before he had the chance to notice. Sure, John liked his cigarettes and his alcohol, but he didn’t agree with this kind of drug. I assumed it was because of his medication, he didn’t think prescription drugs should be taken for fun.
“What was that all about, then?” John asked as he leaned in and kissed my cheek. I shook my head, not speaking. I felt one of the -dry- pills stuck in my throat. “Macca, talk to me. I know you.” He said, stepping back a little bit but not taking his hands off my hips. I swallowed hard, successfully swallowing the second pill. “I’m fine, John. Really.” I faked a smile and kissed his nose. John saw right through it, and knew I was lying. “Paul..” He began. That’s when I began to feel the uppers. I almost heard my pupils dilate, and I felt a shock of electricity and energy shoot through my body. I pulled away from John and splashed my face with cold water. “Fine, Paul. I’ll be ready to listen whenever you’re ready to talk.” He said as he walked out of the bathroom.
I stared at my reflection for a few moments, before smiling. It felt good. I felt good. It felt like I had never experienced pain or hurt before in my entire life, even though I had. Perhaps I had found a way to wash my history of pain and hurt away. I could forget about it completely. I giggled to myself out loud at the thought. I had to find that bartender to get some more of those uppers.
I walked out of the bathroom, and acted as though the other four men at the table didn’t exist. I just kept walking passed them and out the door of the hotel room. “Paul?!” I heard George from behind me. Of course the young lad had to follow me. I didn’t turn around, though. I knew he would catch up eventually. Once I had gotten in the lift, George scurried in beside me. “What the bloody hell do ye think yer doin’?” He asked, a little out of breath. I smiled and shook my head, reaching into his jacket pocket and snagging a cigarette. “Hey! Bloody hell McCartney, you look like a bloody lunatic. What’s gotten int'ye?” George was persistent in questioning me. We exited the lift and found our way to the hotel bar.
“I need t'go to the Star Club.” I finally spoke after taking my first sip of a pint. George raised an eyebrow. “Why mate? We don’t play again until tomorrow night.” He pointed out as he took a large gulp of his own pint. “Don’t tell John.” I began. I could tell George, after all, he was my best mate. “Oh bloody hell, McCartney. I don’t wanna get in the middle of yer relationship with John. Plus, if yer cheatin’ on him y'know I’ll pummel ye. Oh god, y'are, aren’t ye? Jesus Christ, Paul. You’re gonna ruin the poor guy’s heart–” George began to ramble on. “George! Stop. I’m not cheating on him.” I said calmly, still feeling the strong effects of the uppers. “Oh thank fuck. Y'know John, he would probably end yer god damn life. What is it, then?” George sighed in relief.
“The bartender, y'know the short red head?” I began again. George nodded slowly in anticipation. “She gave me these pills. Well, uppers, she called ‘em.” I smiled, I couldn’t help myself. “Shit, Paul. Yer on drugs?” George said, quietly and concerned. “Ye got that right. Bloody hell, Geo. I’ve never felt so god damn good in me life! I’m so happy. It’s like I’ve forgotten what pain feels like! I can think about me god damned father nearly killin’ me, and I don’t feel nothin’! I’m not even upset! Geo, I am the happiest man on the planet right now, y'know?!” I ranted and ranted. George’s eyes grew with concern. “Anyhow, I just took the only two I had. I figure we best go get some more.” I smiled, then took the last big gulp of my pint.
“Paul, I don’t think that’s a good idea, mate.” George said, trying to sound stern. “C'mon Geo, I’m going whether you’re with me or not.” I smiled giddily and stood up. “I’m sorry Paul, but I didn’t realize the time, I’ve gotta call me Mum. Promised her, I did.” George lied. I knew he was lying. “Please don’t tell John.” I pleaded, still smiling. I hadn’t smiled this much in a long time. “Y'have me word.” George said quietly, almost sounding ashamed.
I knew I could get to the Star Club on my own, it was just a matter of whether or not the same bartender was there and was willing to get me more. ]
I walked outside into the evening sky, and noticed it was raining lightly. The raindrops on my head even made me smile. The Star Club was only a block or two away, so I knew I would have no problem getting there. When I did arrive, the bouncer recognized me immediately. “Ah! The Beatles.” He nodded, obviously not knowing much English. He gestured for me to enter the Star Club. “Danke!” I smiled and walked in. I scanned around the club, noticing it wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been when we were playing. That made me giddy all over again - we brought the crowd. I looked to the bar, and saw a tall bald man mixing a drink. I looked to the other end of the bar and saw the little red head. Thank GOD.
I walked over to her, she smiled the moment she saw me. “You look so different without the rest of the band hanging off of you.” She laughed and handed me a pint as I sat down on the stool in front of her. “I missed you’re name, though.” She said as she leaned on the bar, getting closer to my face. “Paul.” I smiled and stuck out my hand, shyly. “Jane!” She giggled at the gesture. “What brings you back in? Bill told me you lads weren’t playing again until tomorrow night.” Jane asked me as she pulled up a stool and sat across from me.
“Honestly, I took those uppers ye gave me the other day and I definitely would like some more.” I said, quick and to the point. Jane raised both of her eyebrows and laughed. “I knew you’d like 'em!” She smiled. “I take them from my flatmate, he sells them. But don’t you worry, sweet Paul. I’ll give you as much as you’d like, he doesn’t keep track too well.” Jane told me. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest.” I said back, flirtatiously. I didn’t even feel guilty flirting, but I assumed it was because of the drugs. Jane was attractive, but as we’ve already covered, I, Paul McCartney, am as queer as the day is long.
Jane told me all about her life, why she moved to Hamburg in hopes of an acting career. I found it odd that she didn’t go to America, but she explained that America was just too expensive and far away for her liking at that time. Jane was from a very posh, upper class family in London. Her father was a doctor. I told her that I was from Liverpool, and that was it. As numb as I felt toward my past, Jane didn’t need to hear it.
“Ah, it’s last call love.” Jane told me. The drugs must have worn off, because I instantly began to panic. “It’s that late?!” I asked, making the panic evident in my voice. “Yeah Paul, you’ve been sitting here with me for a while. Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?” Jane smiled as she leaned in and kissed my cheek lightly, sliding a small baggy across the bar and into my hand. She put her hand on top of mine. “Come back for more when you need 'em. I’ll see ye tomorrow, Paul.” Jane almost moaned into my bloody ear, causing tingles up and down my spine. Bloody hell, I needed to get back to John. He was probably worried sick. I winked at Jane quickly with a smile, but when I turned around the smile was wiped off of my face. I bolted toward the door and outside into the pouring rain. I reached into my pocket and grabbed one of the small blue pills and popped it into my mouth.
The hotel seemed extremely far away. Due to the rain, it was hard to see. “MCCARTNEY!” I heard and instantly began to panic. I started walking faster, hoping the pills would kick in soon. “PAUL, PLEASE!” I heard again from behind me. I turned around and saw my John, slowing down from a run in the pouring rain. He looked beautiful. “Paul, what the hell!” He said as he pulled me in to his arms, I wrapped my arms around him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Why didn’t those bloody pills kick in? Perhaps I needed two for the full effect.
“Why the hell did you just run off like that?!” John yelled over the loud rain, pushing me out of the hug and holding me by the shoulders. “Have you lost your bloody mind?!” He shouted again. "Why don’t you go talk to Stuart about it?! I betcha he’d have the answer, now wouldn’t he?!“ I shouted back. John’s arms dropped to his side, we were both now drenched and dripping with water from the heavy pour. "What are ye talkin’ about, love?!” John said as he grabbed my hand and began to tug me -gently, mind you- back toward the hotel. We both stayed silent as we stood in the lift, still dripping wet. John opened the door to our hotel room, and gestured for me to go ahead of him. I went straight for my suitcase and quickly hid the pills, and then went into the bathroom. I stripped of my wet clothing and wrapped a towel around my waist as John walked in and did the same, both of us still not speaking.
He pulled me into his arms again, I rested my cheek on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Talk to me…” John whispered into my still soaking wet hair. I felt tears pricking at my eyes, and shook my head. John scooped me up like a small child in his arms, my head still resting on his shoulder, and walked out of the bathroom. He sat down on the bed against the head board, and carefully manoeuvred himself so that I was lying between his legs with my head still on his shoulder. I felt so fragile now, I began thinking it was the come-down off of the pills that made me feel so much.
My heart was racing and I was definitely in panic mode. “Paul…” John whispered again against my hair. I finally let a tear run down my cheek, and he must have felt it drip off of me and onto his shoulder because he lifted my chin with his index finger. “Please tell me what’s goin’ on?” John said gently and quietly. I squeezed my eyes closed, and saw images flashing of my father. Of Michael. Of hospital rooms. Of fists and chairs flying at me. I let myself cry into John’s chest. I hated making him worry like he was. I hated how amazing those pills had made me feel while on the high, and how low they brought me once they wore off.
“D-dont’t let go of me.” I managed to whisper between sobs as John wiggled so he was lying flat on his back, with my head on his chest. John had one hand on my side, and as he heard me say those words, his other hand flew up and cupped his forehead as if to stop himself from choking up. “Never… m'love.”
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This Boy - Chapter 16
A/N: this chapter is a little bit shorter than the last few and i do apologize, i feel like this may just be a filler. i hope you enjoy regardless! peace and love
~Paul's~
John and I lied in my bed all day holding each other. I had never felt something as good as the sex I had with John. He was sleeping now. I had never met someone who could sleep as much as John Lennon could.
I slowly slid out of the bed, careful not to wake him up. I sat in my love seat across the room and admired him while he slept. Suddenly my bedroom door opened a little and there was a small knock. I began to panic, I hadn't heard anybody come into the house let alone come up the stairs. "H-hello?" I said hesitantly. Oh God, John wake up. Please wake up. The door opened to reveal George. "Oh thank God. I've gotta put a bloody bell on you." I said quietly, still aware that John was asleep. "Sorry mate. What's John doin' sleepin' in yer bed?" George said as he came in and sat down beside me. "He doesn't sleep much." I lied nervously. I hated lying to George, he was my best friend after all. No matter how much I loved John, George has always been in my life.
"Paul... What's going on with you and John?" He asked, crossing his legs on the cushion and facing me. "Nothin' Geo. He lost 'is Mum too, y'know. I guess we just share that depressing bond." I said trying to laugh in order to sound as nonchalant as possible. "You're lyin'." George mumbled, not taking his eyes off of me. "I'm not lying' Geo! What are ye' accusing me of?!" I said trying to sound defensive. George and I didn't know anybody at that time that was queer, so I didn't know how he would feel about it. John rolled over, my heart nearly stopped. I hoped we hadn't woke him up. "Fine, don't tell me then. I thought you trusted me, mate. After everything." George said, sounding hurt. I didn't know if he was trying to guilt me or he actually felt that way.
"Geo..." I began, my heart racing now. I had to tell him, I hated lying. John had already mentioned to me that George seemed suspicious and as though he knew. "I'm gay." My palms were sweating profusely, I looked away from him, scared of his reaction. "John and I are... Y'know.." I had trouble confessing. Even though John had been in my life in that respect for a while, I had never said the words out loud to anybody other than John himself. "Together?" George finished my sentence. "Yeah... I'm sorry Geo." I nodded.
"Well I can't say I'm shocked because I saw some weird connection between you and John from the get go. But I also dunno how I'm s'pose t'feel. Are you happy?" George asked me politely. "I am. I've never felt this happy before Geo." I said as I looked over at my sleeping John and smiled. George nodded. "S'pose he gave ye that ring then, yeah?" He looked down and pointed at my hand. "He did. Said I can't wear it on me ring finger though cause people would ask questions, y'know. But it's a promise ring I s'pose." I smiled as I spun the ring around my finger.
"I really love him George." I said as I looked up at him. "And he obviously loves you." George flashed a smile at me, and looked over at John who was beginning to stir. He stretched out and yawned, rolling over and facing us. "Oh, hullo." He said obviously surprised that George was there. "Hey John, sorry t'interrupt." George laughed slightly, almost as if to tell John he knew.
"Well the real reason I'm here is 'cause I think I've found us a drummer." George said contently. "Have ye? Whose that?" John asked, sitting up on my bed. "Well, I know none of us like him, but hear me out. It's Ritchie Starkey." I began shaking my head along with John. "No no no, hear me out! He's bloody petrified of Johnny here due to earlier today. But I went inta' the music room and 'e was playin' drums. Fantastic, he is. I think he would be a good asset. Anyroad, we talked for a a couple of hours and he seems like he's a nice guy. The tough guy we've seen is totally an act." George rambled on. "Dunno Geo." I said hesitantly. John had gone white with rage this morning because of that kid, I don't know if John -or the voices in his head for that matter- could be civil with Ritchie.
"He'll have to audition and apologize to Paul." John said sternly. George nodded in agreement. "Are ye okay with this m'lov- Paul?" John caught himself in the middle of calling me my pet name. George smirked. "John, I told George." I confessed. John's eyes widened and he looked at George. "It's all good mate, honest. Yer secret is safe with me." George said as he motioned an X over his heart. John was very obviously uncomfortable, probably hearing voices..
"John." I said sternly trying to snap him out of it. He made eye contact with me and smiled, his shoulders sinking down and relaxing. "Well, Harrison. Let's have him audition tonight. Ye want t'set it up mate?" John said, smiling at George now. George nodded in agreement, obviously content with the fact that John had given him an important duty for our so-called band.
"Ay, how did ya get in here?" I asked George, raising my eyebrow. "Yer Auntie Gin was on her way back out when I got here, she said you must've been napping cause ye didn't answer yer door. Yer lucky she didn't walk in and catch you two cuddlin' er whatever else ye do." George laughed at himself and stood up, heading toward the door. "I'll call ye once I set this up with Ritchie. Play safe." George winked at me and left, heading down the stairs and out my front door. I smiled.
"What are you smiling about, handsome?" John asked me, quickly replacing George on the love seat beside me, putting his hand on my thigh, instantly sending electrifying tingles through my body. "I'm just happy." I laughed a little bit at myself. "I'm happy that you're happy." John laughed as he leaned in and kissed my cheek. I wanted to bring up him getting some help again, but I knew it would ruin his mood. He was just going to keep putting it off until it got too bad, I knew that. I had to be pushy about it. "John I wanted to ask you again about going to see a doctor..." I said, hesitantly. I waited for him to get defensive, or mad.
"I'll make an appointment as long as you come with me."
I took a double take at John. Had I heard him right? "Wait, what?" I asked, sounding obviously shocked. "I can tell you're worried, Paul. But I can't handle it anymore either, I don't want to keep having mental breakdowns. I have to be strong, y'know, for you." John told me as he let a smile creep out the side of his mouth. "You don't have to be strong for me, Lennon." I told him, trying to sound defensive. "Paul, I know you're doing well right now but we both know you've got some work t'do.. mentally. I have to be here for you. I'm scared I'm gonna loose me marbles and hurt you, or end up killing meself 'er somethin'. But I don't want that. I need to be here for you, to live.... for you." John said shyly as he took my hand and began twirling my ring.
My heart was beating so loudly I was sure John could hear. "I dunno what t'say..." I said quietly. "Ye don't have t'say anything, Paul. I just want you to know that. But, I do need you for this. Y'know the appointment." He mumbled. "I will be by your side the entire time, luv. I told ye we'll get through this together." I leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Can I use your phone? I'll call me doctor and see when I can get in..." John asked. I nodded, smiling still as he walked out of my bedroom to make his call.
I was so proud of him.
After the call he came back into my room looking pale. "What is it love?" I asked him sweetly. "Uhm, well I, ugh," John stuttered as he sat back down beside me. "John it's alright, what is it?" I asked again as I put my hand on his thigh. "I can go tomorrow." He finally blurted out. "That's great! The sooner the better, y'know." I said, trying to comfort him. "I didn't think it would be so soon. I don't want to hear what they could have to say, they could send me away, lock me up in a loony bin and then I'd never see you again--" John began to ramble. I cupped his face with my hands. "John look at me." I said sternly. He was still muttering nonsensical words, it was almost scary. "Baby, it's only me... C'mon." I finally got his attention and he snapped out of it.
"I'm sorry Paul." John said sadly. "I'm not going to let anybody send you away or lock you up anywhere, you know that. I've got you now and I'm not about to let you go." I told him, not taking my hands away from his face.
"I'm scared, Paul." John whispered so that I could barely hear. "I've got you." I reassured him softly and pulled him into my chest. He grabbed the collar of my shirt tightly and snuggled into my neck. I leaned back onto the love seat, bringing him with me so he was lying down on my chest. John was clung to me as tightly as possible, and I loved that. I loved making him feel safe.
We eventually dozed off again.
"PAUL MCCARTNEY GET BACK HERE NOW!" John was screaming. I was running away from him as fast as I could, but when I turned the corner, there stood John.
His eyes were glazed over and almost looked black. His smile was cruel and scary. "Please don't hurt me." I began to beg.
John grabbed my collar and lifted me off the ground with one hand. He raised his fist and it was coming for my face. I was preparing myself for the pain--
"Paul! Wake up!" John was shaking me.
I opened my eyes and flinched when I saw him, feeling scared, but only for a moment. I buried my face in his chest and wrapped my arms around him. "What happened m'love?" John asked. "Bad dream, is all." I didn't want to tell him the truth. "You kept saying John stop!.... Did I hurt you?" I sensed the worry in his voice.
"It was just a dream John, I'm fine. We're fine." I assured him. "Well, before you started dreaming, George called. We've gotta go meet with him and Ritchie. Are you sure you're okay with that?" John asked, making sure I felt safe. I nodded and smiled.
"Let's go." John said, attempting to get up off of the love seat. "No-wait!" I begged, pulling him back. I hated leaving private areas like this where we could be together, really together like we both wanted and needed to be. "What is it?" John asked me soothingly as he squeezed me a little.
"Don't let go of me." I whispered.
"Never, m'love."
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