#but sun has a veil tail and moon has a half moon tail :))

[reaurelynios]

quick little mermay doodle

[image ID a digital draawing of sun and moon as betta fish. sun is posed to the left of moon with his left hand open ina wave and his right arm is by his side. he has a viel tail and is smiling at moon, his body is yellow, pink, white and blue, his entire body can be seen. moon is posed to the lright of sun with both of his hands raised in claws at his sides. he has a halfmoon tail and is smiling back at sun, his body is blue, red, purple and white, his entire body can be seen end ID]

[livealittleoc-cb]

"Humans are scared of what they don't understand. It's a real shame."

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.: Hecate [Hwang Mi-sun]

⋆｡°✩ Greek Goddess of Magic, Witchcraft, The Night, Light, Ghosts, Necromancy, && The Moon

⋆｡°✩ She is a a fashion designer, makeup artist && artist

⋆｡°✩ Has a Short-Tailed Chinchilla named Coco

⋆｡°✩ In "Human" form she's from JeJu Island, Korea [lived in Paris, France for a while && where she met Hel], in Astria she's from Nascil[Thrace, Greece]

⋆｡°✩ She/They | Bisexual, Poly, Demisexual [might be fully aesexual] | 24 [Human Years], is as old as witchcraft | 3/20 [Pisces] | 6'3"

⋆｡°✩ She is:

extremely shy

very quiet

soft spoken

tender hearted

can be really talkative once she's used to you

easily stressed

emotional baby

calm for most of the time

God Information / Form Stuff

⋆｡°✩ she feeds off ghosts, necromancy && moonlight

⋆｡°✩ moonlight is the most effective for her but necromancy && ghosts can also be helpful

⋆｡°✩ she's constantly working && in her office or balcony

⋆｡°✩ when she feeds her eyes flash from pastel pink, yellow && blue

⋆｡°✩ she is extremely shy && scared of people so it might be a lot harder to get close to her, she doesn't easily flirt with others && gets easily flustered

⋆｡°✩ as a goddess she can smell && sense emotions well but the smell/sensation of sadness is the strongest she can depict

⋆｡°✩ she has more strength then a normal human but an average amount of strength compared to other gods

⋆｡°✩ she can change her "human" apperance [height, eye color, hair color, etc.]

⋆｡°✩ each god has a human name they go by, hers is Mi-sun

⋆｡°✩ in her goddess form she is 7'3"

⋆｡°✩ in her goddess form, she has three faces && six arms, one eye is white while the other is a very pale purple/blue, she has jewels on her forehead, her skin is slightly purple tinted && pale, has straight long purple hair, has a black crown of spikes, she carries around a staff that glows, she wears a dark purple dress with a white veil, her nails are permanently painted a pastel purple, blue && pink, she has no piercings or tattoos in this form

⋆｡°✩ if she pleases she can split into 3 forms each having their own personalities

⋆｡°✩ in both forms she cries whenever someone is sad or in pain near her, they sparkle && look like jewels

⋆｡°✩ she has a crystal ball she can see things with, it can be the past, future or something that is occuring in the present

⋆｡°✩ when not in astria or the human realm she resides in the olymipian realm [olympus]

⋆｡°✩ in her half && half form she is her normal 6'3", has a nose bridge piercing, one piercing on her cupid's bow && ball snake bites, her eyes are either their normal one white && one pale purple/blue or a mix of pastel pink, yellow, blue && purple, straight hair that changes hairstyles constently [she dyes it && cuts it a lot], in this form she tends to replace the veil with a mask but does sometimes wear a veil

Extras

⋆｡°✩ natural eye color: one white && one pale purple/blue

⋆｡°✩ eyes might flash a mix of pastel pink, yellow, blue && purple when flustered, embaressed, sad or happy [pink - flustered, yellow happy, blue - sad, purple - embaressed]

⋆｡°✩ she has a nose bridge piercing, one piercing on her cupid's bow && ball snake bites

⋆｡°✩ likes: quiet, her alone time, fashion, makeup, science, history, spells, crystals, sketchbooks, journals, stationary, bubbles, pastel goth, pastel colors

⋆｡°✩ dislikes: loud people, her bubble being trespassed, too dark colors

⋆｡°✩languages: korean, french && english

NSFW

⋆｡°✩ switch, heavy sub lean; she is a bit more on the vanilla side [this might change] but some kinks she has are oral [receiving], hoisery, praise [giving && receiving], marking [giving && receiving], breeding [receiving], orgasam control [receiving], over stim [receiving]

⋆｡°✩ hard nos: feet, watersports, wasteplay

⋆｡°✩ she is open to most kinks but likes to stay away from harder kinks, if she trusts you enough she's open to trying them

⋆｡°✩ her eyes shine with pastel rainbows when arroused

⋆｡°✩ safe word: spell

⋆｡°✩ she uses 🔮 on dash

Relationship Statuses

She is in a relationship with Hel!!!

⋆｡°✩ drawing in her balcony && calm

⋆｡°✩ single [0/1], uninterested

⋆｡°✩ happily dating Hel [her lumière🕯️☀️ ] [hel && hecate will take one partner together]

⋆｡°✩ friends: hades [grumpy blueberry man 😾🫐]

⋆｡°✩ children:

Tags

⋆｡°✩ relationship tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ friend tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ music tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ inspo tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ other tag(s):

faceclaim: @/lerowillberunningaround

[sunstar121]

THE ORIGINS

[I.D: drawings of all of the members of Origins SMP. the drawings are grouped as follows; Ranboo and Tubbo, Tommy, Sneeg, and Charlie, Jack and Fundy, Phil and Techno, Wilbur and Niki, and Scott. more detailed I.D under the cut. end I.D]

[I.D: Ranboo is an Enderian with dark purple skin, red and green eyes, no mouth, short black hair, long ears, and a tail.  he has many piercings, and a wears a wedding ring.  he has a white streak in his hair, and wears a crown made of purple shards.  he wears a puffy purple cloak and blouse, black gloves, heeled boots, and many belts and straps. Tubbo is a pale bee hybrid with large wings, antennae, shaggy brown hair, and black stripes.  he has yellow fluff around his neck and ankles.  he wears a yellow and black jacket, black pants, goggles and a brown belt with many bags attached to it.

Tommy is a pale Avian with feathered ears, wings, tail feathers, and chicken legs.  He has bright blue eyes, short blonde hair, and red marks around his eyes and forearms.  he wears a bright red cloak fastened with a heart clasp, a widebrimmed sunhat, beige shorts, and bracelets and rings around his talons. Charlie is a slime hybrid with green skin and hair.  he wears a white shirt, blue jeans, red runners, red glasses, and a layered green belt. He's drawn in a more chibi-like style. Sneeg is a tiny inching with white skin, patterned blue wings, blue eyes, antennae, and a blue tail. He wears a hooded dark blue cloak, blue pants and shoes, and a buttonup shirt.

Jack is a blazeborn. His limbs are separated and float independently, and are chained together by black rings and chains. He is surrounded by smoke, and wears 3D glasses. Fundy is a fox hybrid with four tails and brown eyes.  he wears a black hat, red bandanna, multicoloured shawls, cargo pants with many pockets, and a large bag.

Philza is an elytrian with blue eyes, high cheekbones, shaggy blonde hair, short antlers, and large black wings and tail feathers.  he wears a white and green bucket hat, black tanktop, layered white and green jacket, gray pants, and red bracers on his crow legs. Technoblade is a bulky white man with reddish-brown eyes, pink braided hair, and a short beard.  a pig skull mask covers his face. He wears a blue sunhat, white poets blouse, work gloves, blue pants, tall boots, and a large bag on his back.

Wilbur is a phantom with gray skin and hair, glowing green eyes, a scaled tail and wings, and glowing blue markings. he wears a black sunhat with a dark blue veil, blue cloak, yellow sweater, black gloves, black pants, and thigh-high boots. Niki is a merfolk with pink eyes, flowing pink hair, pink stripes, finned ears, a pink mermaid tail, and large fangs. She wears a golden crown, and kelp wraps around her chest, waist, and parts of her tail.

Scott is a starborn with pale skin, purple eyes, and a tail. His hair, ears, feet, forearms, tail, wings, and top half of his face look like the night sky. He wears a purple tanktop, a flowy blue coat splattered with stars, black pants, and sun and moon belts. end I.D]

[absolutelynoct]

since it's crazy enough of an idea. Mermaid and vampire Promptis? Let your ideas run wild, you unbridled stallion!

[I thought about taking it another route, probably should’ve cause it would’ve been better, but then I wrote this idea to a point that I had to see it through. So I hope you enjoy it XD]

The moon, full and casting the light in its ethereal glow, nearly lit up the sky as if it were day, the light shimmering off the waters of Galdin Quay. The human world was asleep, making it the perfect time for those that lurked in the shadows to come out and play. Whether on land or on sea, those that would be hunted by humanity had they known they exist were free to exist and revel in the night. It was during the witching hour, late into the night and early into the morning, that a veil fell over the quay, putting each human in a deep sleep so as not to wake and see the night coming to life.

This night, in particular, was quiet. There weren’t many on the quay who were walking around, enjoying the beach during the witching hour. Noctis was amongst the few, dressed in only black swim trunks, a towel draped over his bare shoulder. He made his way towards the pier, sitting down at the edge and dangling his feet in the water. 

It didn’t take long. There was a flitting underneath the surface and then he appeared, resting his arms on the pier and smiling like the sun at Noctis. He grinned back at Prompto, admiring the way his eyes were a vibrant galaxy hue of purple and blue, how his hair was like shimmering gold, and how he was kissed by the sun and had the freckles to prove it. Dancing along his shoulders were beautiful scales that nearly matched his eye color, an iridescent blue and violet with just a hint of gold.

His chest was bare, pale and beautiful, and right at his hips the scales swirled in a vibrant pattern where it turned into a long and gorgeous tail. The tail ended in a fin, and there were three fins attached to his tail further up, long and beautiful. The fins were mostly gold, and so many times Noctis thought that they resembled gossamer whenever he saw Prompto swimming by. Every time he saw Prompto, he swore that the merman just got more and more beautiful.

“Hi Prom,” Noctis said with a smile, happy to see him again. There was a reason why he had decided to move to Galdin Quay, although he had told Prompto it was because he liked the area more than the city. “How was the swim here?”

“Calm waters as always,” Prompto replied, his voice so beautiful to hear. Everything about him had captivated Noctis. “Ready?”

“Of course,” Noctis replied. Prompto didn’t wait then. He grabbed Noctis’s hands and pulled him into the warm waters, giggling the entire time. Noctis couldn’t help but grin, smiling at Prompto as he stared at him under the surface. Prompto immediately kissed Noctis, his lips like silk, and Noctis eagerly kissed him in return. 

Their nights were always like this now, ever since they had stumbled into each other during one of Noctis’s vacations. Noctis had been there for a fishing excursion, and he had accidentally hooked Prompto’s fin. Ever since that first moment, they had fallen in love, using the light of the moon to guide them. Shortly after the excursion, Noctis decided to move to Galdin Quay, something that his best friends, Ignis and Gladio, were not too thrilled with. It didn’t matter. He had eternity to go wherever he pleased, and he wanted to ensure that he got as much time with Prompto as possible.

“I’ve figured it out,” Prompto said before they resurfaced. Noctis kept his hands on Prompto’s waist, half of his fingers on his skin and the other half on his scales. “I spoke to the sorcerer and he told me how it works.”

“Are you sure?” Noctis asked, feeling Prompto’s tail and fin wrapped his legs. It was a wonderful and delightful feeling, but it was also keeping them from being together. Forever.

“I’m sure,” Prompto replied with a firm nod and a serious expression. “I’m ready, Noctis.”

Noctis nodded and smiled, his soul soaring as he kissed Prompto. They swam around together for a while, Prompto pulling Noctis along as they flitted through the water. Once Prompto was ready, they swam to the shore. Noctis carried Prompto up onto the sandy beach, setting him down once they were far enough away from the water. Noctis sat behind Prompto, his arms wrapped around his torso while his legs were extended on either side of the merman. Prompto nestled into Noctis, his back pressed against Noctis’s chest.

“Are you sure?” Noctis asked again with a frown. “This seems a bit… easy.”

“That’s what I said,” Prompto mused with a shrug. “He was pretty sure though. Said he only saw it once before, but this was how it was done.”

“I’m worried about hurting you,” Noctis admitted as his lips grazed Prompto’s neck. Prompto shivered beneath his touch, and Noctis noticed how his bottom fin swayed nervously. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Prompto insisted. He tilted his head so Noctis would have a better view of his neck. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted. Please.”

“Alright,” Noctis agreed finally, despite his trepidation. He kissed Prompto’s neck, his lips admiring the taste of the salt water on his skin. Prompto let out a soft sigh when he relaxed into the touch. That was when Noctis bared his fangs and bit into him, drinking from the merman.

The taste was exquisite, like the sea meeting the sky, a taste of heaven on his lips. He could drown in the taste of Prompto’s blood if he let himself. He couldn’t, though. He had to keep his focus, and Prompto’s aching moans of pleasure reminded him that he couldn’t just let him die. Once he was adequately drained, Noctis pulled away, the merman’s violet blood staining his lips. He bit into his own wrist and held it up to Prompto’s lips as he weakly rested his head against Noctis’s shoulder.

“Drink,” Noctis said soothingly. Prompto was weak, but he was strong enough to take his blood. As Noctis pressed his wrist against Prompto’s, the merman drank, taking his blood into him. The pleasure that coursed through his body was unlike anything he had ever felt, even from when he had turned Ignis into a vampire. This was different. It felt more sacred, more precious, more delightful. 

As Prompto drank, he watched in amazement. Whoever the sorcerer was, he was right. Prompto’s tail transformed into human legs, his scales and fins leaving shimmering tattoo-like swirls and markings tracing up his legs to his hips. They looked like the waves of the ocean and were the same color as his tail and fins, blue and violet and gold. Once the transformation was complete, Noctis pulled his wrist away and looked at Prompto, just a bit weary from the process.

“It worked,” Prompto said in surprise as he looked down at his legs. He turned to face Noctis and smiled, his vampire fangs on proud display. “It worked.”

“It did,” Noctis replied with a smile. Both of their lips were stained with each other’s blood. He stood up, pulling Prompto to his feet, admiring how Prompto’s legs were painted like his fins once were. It was beautiful, Prompto was beautiful, and now he was with him for eternity. “Who would’ve thought that the transformation has that power?”

“I can’t wait to try out my new legs,” Prompto said happily as he took a step and nearly fell. Noctis caught him against his chest, his arms wrapped around his lover as he held him tightly. “And I can’t wait to try everything out as a vampire.”

“You are too devious,” Noctis laughed as he kissed Prompto on the lips. “Come on. You need to get used to those legs before you use what’s between them.”

“I want to ride the chocobos!” Prompto exclaimed as Noctis helped him walk back to the cottage he had bought on the edge of the quay. Noctis laughed at that, knowing that Prompto had seen the birds once and had insisted on riding them later.  

“We’ll ride the chocobos,” Noctis laughed. “We have an eternity to ride them now.”

“Yay!” Prompto exclaimed in joy. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

“And the chocobos,” Noctis pointed out, amused by the man he loved.

“And the chocobos!” Prompto cheered. Noctis wasn’t surprised that Prompto was excited for the chocobos. After all, he loved Prompto enough to want to spend an eternity with him.

[beatnicksellar]

Marda Loophole: TPB: Issues #7-12

Issue #7 – The Exodus Then: Mada opened her eyes to the inhuman sights and sounds of war Half-men strewn about Bramshott the RCAMC tent soaked in red gore Through the horror she saw her scarecrow the one she treated before Minus a leg he was alive and that was enough to lift her off of the floor Now: Mada opens her eyes to the fuzzy sight of 4 purple children overhead Siphoning energy from a radiant boulder their chant stirs her from the dead A tingle in her toes and sour taste in her mouth the Hole is as Dennis said He labours nearby as the kids stitch Mada together with amethyst thread With the dulling drone done the rock bathes everyone in its immortal hue The old wendigo’s cell unlocks in the uproar allowing her to slip through Before Mada’s blurry eyes the frailest child’s torn from the circuit and slew She can hear the rapacious wendigo sob as she reluctantly continues to chew The plaster walls of the outbuilding begin to buckle from the stone’s potency Suddenly Pope enters the Hole and descends the staircase with much urgency The doctor’s met mid-way by the limping wendigo who embraces him completely Mesmerising him with her wildfire eyes she gladly detaches his loins from his body Dennis returns to find the Hole in shambles with Dot eaten and Dr. Pope screaming He disconnects the kids and requests that Mada give the boys’ lives a new meaning One of the boys grabs a ledger while the other two grip Mada and they begin fleeing Dennis and the wendigo clash by the emitting mound soon buried under the ceiling South Calgary is silent for the first time since the 33 soldiers were secretly dosed But without the hum to calm them they thrashed 33 Avenue like a whipping post Possessed troops overturned the streetcar and chard the theater like it was toast Stiff pedestrians and sate scavengers guide Mada back to her husband Marc’s ghost She mourns over his blood-spattered prosthesis as one boy reads a shard of glass His brothers study the ledger as he peers into the sliver to see what’ll comes to pass ‘We’ll return when the streetcar does’ the scrying boy points to the upturned mass With crazed GIs loose Mada and her boys depart while a curious crow tails her ass… Issue #8 – The Wild Boys ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩ A gayageum plays notes from the concerto called Dorothea The ribbon of rhythm writhes on the airstreams over Korea Baroque tones stir the ancient visage which inspired its idea Eddying over the ocean to hover above a 33rd avenue pizzeria ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫ The melody meanders up 20th street pausing at its composer Three long-haired boys that look 10 but are very much older Standing before Currie Barracks Condo they are of one mourner The unrelated triplets commiserate over their deceased sister ‘I cannot feel her in there’ John the empath of the family confirms ‘I cannot reach her’ Robert retorts ‘all I hear is Dennis and worms’ Scryer James perceives future events but cannot grasp their terms ‘All I see is that the stone has been scattering its ill will like germs’ Treating the condo as if a gravestone they pay respect to her spirit With unkempt heads down the trinity are subdued for a moment Each recalls Dot, the Hole, the old woman then all begin to fidget John pulls a music sheet out of his shorts and whistles a snippet ♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♩♫♬♪♩♬♩♫♪♩♫♩♬♪♬♪♩♬♪♩♫♪♬ James and Robert join him in his performance of Dorothea No. 4 When done John tosses the concerto down onto the sewer floor As they skate through the Loop Mada’s name hangs in every store Coffee shops hum with anticipation over the 70-year-old folklore Around the corner of 35th avenue is where a hungry entity stalks A hefty shadow cast from a vacant lot that limps wherever it walks The boys are too distracted to notice the relic from Pandora’s Box Because a fireball is about to knock’em out of their graphic socksIssue #9 – The Vacant LotYellow barricades protect the rich soil within the vacant lotThough ideal for growth it’s contaminated by junkyard rot Comparable to the toxin that comprises Hausis’ blood clot An

inherit gift from her father and the affects it has wrought Over a century old she has been scarred twice by the stoneAs well Hausis has been forced out of more than one homeFrom her log cabin to that school and finally the catacomb A hole she fled full of a plum, revenge and astral syndrome Dark energy leached into her, those boys and the headless one Wendigo mixed with indigo and once again she was on the run But on the Rez her spirits calmed; she even adopted a grandson It was the last time she felt love as the Sixties Scoop had begun Hungry and hateful she hid her mercy and fed on colonial fears Hitchhiking Highway 16 in the 1970s she traded entrails for tears Retribution for her surrogate sisters who had began to disappear When the stone summoned her home she returned with souvenirs She settled in South Calgary and became a landlord to tasty tenants Bones buried in the vacant lot next-door while lying to their parents A cane sword to assist her limp and cutback on the slaying minutes Serrated steel dentures to masticate and absorb her preys’ essence A century old entity at last content with her damned life up until TONIGHT When her plums return assured and still ripe enough to enjoy a quick biteWhen her bone yard is deemed aseptic and police investigation is in sightHausis lunges at the wild boys only to be repelled by a nimbus of starlight… Issue #10 – The Above People CREEEAK! The tactless teenager forcefully opens the oxidized attic door In search of a white wig for her cosplay getup she stomps across the floor Rummaging through containers she finds something unusual in a drawer A thirteen-year-old letter that when opened clarifies exactly who it is for ‘Aline: It’s with regret and sadness that I write this letter to my daughter’ ‘I had to go to a dangerous place so I left you to be raised by your father’ ‘I never stopped loving you or dreaming of the day we would be together’ ‘When you are ready to meet amass juniper twigs and a magpie feather’ Elated to see her mislaid mother Aline flees the loft in her space-opera costume She sprints across 35 Avenue towards a vacant lot shrouded by juniper in bloom Ripping off a bouquet Aline is unaware that just beyond bodies are being exhumed She spots a pudgy magpie perched on the yellow barricade and plucks at its plume Clutching the vital items the Big Dipper shaped beauty marks on her right arm glows FWOOOOM! A blinding white light descends from overhead lifting her off of her toes Aline suddenly finds herself in a melancholy landscape of stars, clouds and shadows Before her sit 2 enormous Above People who enquire as to her odd-looking clothes ‘It’s for Comic-con’ she roars removing the wig ‘who’re you and where’s my mom’ Sun God laughs as Moon Goddess speaks: ‘We see that you were raise with aplomb’ The electric entities sizzle and pop as they struggle to alleviate Aline’s many qualms ‘Your father fell in love with our granddaughter: the Morning Star he wished upon’ ‘But she had to return to Sky-Country to rid it of the evil her mother had let loose’ Mother Moon details how Feather Woman disobeyed and iniquity was introduced ‘She moved the giant turnip that which protects our portal because she was obtuse’ Mother Moon adds she encased the dummy in indigo stone and made her vamoose That is the past but the portal remains open for dark matter to infest Sky-Country The same stuff brought down with the stone when it crashed in the 19th century Aline accuses her great-grandparents of killing her kin and for spreading villainy The Gods giggle at the allegation clarifying Feather Woman merely has an injury More gen is traded and a deal is struck: if Aline fixes the portal all will be forgiven Above People will help find the Morning Star and teach Aline of her nuclear fusion KRA-KOOM! A fiery comet crashes and Aline emerges from impact like a magician Gazing at the wild boys she states ‘You dudes are my gran and we have a mission’… Issue #11 – The Penultimate Sequential squares spread over an infinitude of glittering stars Panels parted by gutters spanning

centuries between the bars A billboard advertises Marc and Mada’s forthcoming memoirs Christened Marda; Loop denotes the superannuated streetcar Inset in the ad is a shot of Magpie gnawing on a decayed thumb bone Balanced on the sign she spots a bird below who was once well known Magpie cries: ‘Ain’t seen you since you left with THAT there veiled crone’ Alit next to Magpie Crow recalls his ghastly exploits beyond the stone ‘It was Hell’ he croaks ‘The screaming, the silence, the suicide attempts’ ‘It took HER forever to bond with THOSE boys and get over her regrets’ ‘Once she did’ Crow pauses ‘she spearheaded some tantalizing events’ Led by the ledger and scryed images they tracked the fiery GIs’ contempt While 7 indigo infected ones enlisted for Korea 26 settled in Forest City An innocuous epithet for somewhere death stalked the streets regularly Enclosed by thickets it’s where butchers would conceal a mutilated body ‘The Serial Killer Capital’ Crow yelps ‘We lured them out during the 1960s’ Crow clarifies that when the GIs moved there each become a major player: Mad Slasher, Bedroom Strangler, Balcony Killer + the Chambermaid Slayer Mada the bait, Crow the lookout, and 3 wild boys unified became the healer ‘In the forest we’d draw out the purple poison leaving the mortals tamer’ Mada’s nursing background afforded them a home and a baby-grand piano She worked while under pseudonyms the boys penned novels & concertos ‘Forest City was safe and we had obtained almost all of that fugitive indigo’ ‘Almost’ Crow echoed ‘We left for Korea in ‘81 on a plane from Toronto’ Magpie squawks sceptically: ‘And then miraculously back for the 70th Anniversary’ {Had it been that long?} the crone ponders {Why did they whitewash my tragedy?} The veiled woman below the advert grimaces then utters anachronistic profanity Stalwart in stance she shudders when the #7 rolls by renewed for the pageantry… Issue #12 – Giant-Size Finale The fixed indigo stone pulsates expelling the remnants of its space toxin Pumped into the faucets of 22 occupants of the new condo atop its coffin Dragging fingers thru mauve hair they’re rapt by the stone’s dim doctrine They riot inside the structure while outside Mada and her wild boys lock in ‘Try it again’ the costumed Aline guides from inside the infinite sealed loop She has juniper and feather in hand yet something is off within their group ‘That thing’s teeing me off’ Mada breaks from the ring and sits on the stoop The rebuilt #7 streetcar gleams in the parking lot next to an effigy of troops Suddenly…a service door opens and the old wendigo limps out of the edifice ‘You’ Hausis growls at Aline ‘You’re relations with that Metis bastard Dennis’ Mada perks up at the name of the man who inadvertently made her endless ‘Are you?’ Mada asks ‘She sure is’ Hausis sniffs ‘and it’s making me ravenous’ Incensed Mada bares the jagged indigo scar spanning the length of her collar ‘Dennis did this’ she states ‘and orchestrated the 1950 South Calgary slaughter’ Aline has entirely no clue as to what occurred because of her great-grandfather And before Mada can educate her the group is spotted by a police helicopter ‘Freeze Ms. Cranmer’ a voice booms as a squad car pulls up with guns drawn Hausis has been hiding since police uncovered the bodies she had feasted on Clotheslined and cuffed the 145-year-old Cree woman is beaten with a baton Aline, Mada and wild boys watch in horror as Hausis is tenderized like carrion The wild child named Robert tugs at Aline’s skirt pointing at the departing cop car ‘Dot’ the 80-year-old kid chirps ‘The hungry lady has carried our sister’s soul so far’ Mada is not their 4th because it is the frail child Hausis mauled like a chocolate bar ‘We need that granny back’ Aline barks at Mada who turns away rubbing her scar Aline suggests they take the idle #7 and propel it with a trick she has just learned ‘Can I borrow a feather from your crow?’ she asks of Mada who still feels scorned Crow leaves Magpie atop the streetlamp landing beside Aline his feathers formed ‘I am not getting on that ’

Mada repeats just as the crazed tenants emerge armed KRA-KOOM! The refurbished #7 streetcar rockets down 20th street like a fireball Crow and Magpie try to slow the tenants’ progress to the 33rd avenue mini-mall Meanwhile the #7 zips down the parade route until it hits the cruiser then a wall Everyone on the #7 is unscathed and so too is Hausis who’s eating a cop’s eyeball Magpie and Crow flutter in to warn everyone of the approaching horde of tenants The wild boys jump into action with a hand out for Hausis who sees it as penance ‘Doesn’t make me a plum’ she gripes grasping John’s hand as if she is pregnant As the 4 siblings unite clouds appear and a powerful deluge forms within minutes The first drop hits as the vicious throng reaches Marda Loop then the sky cries The drenched tenants lose their momentum as the mauve washes over their eyes The rain relents as does the horde but Mada’s inner ire cannot be overemphasized The wild boys embrace Hausis and in turn Dot whose soul has now been reprisedOnlookers have gathered at the site sad to see there’s no anniversary to reminisce Crow and Magpie peck at the injured police officers as Aline stares into the abyss She apologizes to Mada for her relative’s actions but asks for her not to be remiss ‘We cannot change the past’ she points out ‘But if you help us now we can fix this’The wendigo, the crone, the wild boys, the star-child and the scavengers all return Loitering outside of the Currie Barracks condo building hashing out their concerns Hausis has subsisted with the stone while in exile so she knows where it’s interned In the bowels of the sub-basement they find the ancient rock fading in a slow burn John, James and Robert the perpetual 10-year-olds encircle Aline and embrace her Hausis jeers as the boys kiss their kin then whisper in Mada’s ear: Goodbye Mother The siblings start siphoning the stone’s essence back; Aline waves Magpie’s feather Hausis and the boys convert to stardust they swirl around the stone and then enter Aline and Mada escape the building as the boulder flies backwards thru the nexus Its trajectory bearing straight for Sky-Country where it will rid the land of sepsis The portal is sealed and The Above People welcome Feather Woman and Hausis Back in South Calgary Mada stands in the quiet rubble no longer feeling headless ‘Wanna meet my dad?’ Aline asks of her lithe friend who nods producing a smile Mada calls Crow but he and Magpie are stardust in a constellation of their profile Unveiled Mada and neophyte Aline walk towards a rainbow after their long trial As both fade over the hill stardust diffuses and floats to somewhere worthwhile An End

[chanaihimaa]

LFRP - Chanai Himaa

(updated 3/10/2021)

DETAILS –––

Alias: “The Lynx”; Rosa Rugosa

Age: 25

Birthday: 13th Sun of the 6th Astral Moon (11/12)

Race: Au Ra, Xela

Gender: Nonbinary transmasc

Sexuality: Homosexual

Pronouns: He/Him/They/Them

Alignment: Chaotic neutral/Good

Marital Status: Single

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: Black

Eyes: Ruby red

Height: 5′2″.

Build: petite, toned

Distinguishing Marks and Body Piercings: Nothing worth noting, he’d say. Dark scales to match both horns and tail, a beauty mark at the upper corner of his mouth and a cluster of faint freckles at the corner of his eyes.  A full tattoo sleeve in dark ink and red roses decorates his right arm and a half sleeve of the same design along his left arm to match the single rose in bloom on his upper right thigh. Only clients are aware of the navel piercing that twinkle and shine tauntingly with the barbell jewelry at his hips. Upon closer inspection, one may notice a single clean white scar on the palm of his right hand and the hint of a small, metal barbell glinting cheekily on his tongue.

Common Accessories: Pocket knives kept hidden in his boot or the inner pocket of jackets, a careful smear of tinted lip balm or rouge that, once only used for work, now a common staple to match the red eyeshadow he wears.

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Depends on whom you ask. Some know him as a habitual thief, a for-hire professional courtesan, intelligence gatherer, or the occasional “Handler” that does away annoying competition. Hard to prove the latter. Unless... you know where to look.

Hobbies: Drinking, painting, photography, sparring. collecting pocket knives and learning new spells

Languages: Eorzean Common, Elezen, and speckles of other phrases from other languages his tongue is still learning.

Birthplace: The Sea, he believed prior; Limsa and its orphanage has been his home for as long as he can remember. Quite recently he has discovered his birthplace and family tribe The Steppe.

Residence: a quaint apartment

Religion: He worships no higher being but the magiks that run through his veins. He is open to knowing about many other beliefs

Patron Deity: Rhalgr

Fears: He fears abandonment and betrayal from those that, by some higher deity, he would rest his trust in. Hells fire and dragon’s roar do not frighten him. Come Hells or high water, he would face it at any cost. It are those that manage to get too close to him that make him weary, and the emotional compromise that comes with it.

RELATIONSHIPS –––-

Spouse: “...you’re jokin’”

Children: None

Parents: His mother, Kinu Himma, and father, Naoie Himaa

Other relatives: A twin sister, Cho Himaa

Pet(s): Midnight, his pet Coeurl

TRAITS –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / Anxious / damn good at pretending to be calm Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between / Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––-

Smoking Habit: never / sometimes / frequently / trying to cut back  Drugs: never / sometimes (depends) / frequently / to excess. Alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

RP HOOKS –––

The Price is Right: For those that have their own connections to know, Chanai has a reputation of doing shady jobs for coin beneath the veiled service of a simple courtesan addressed as one of his aliases, Rose Rugosa. Need him to move info from one place to another? Need something stolen? Be a bird in someone’s ear or fly on the wall? He's your lad. Whom else better than someone whose job is to make those he gets involved with comfortable enough to loosen their tongue? He'll do as he's asked. So long as the price is right.

"...Have we met?": Living amidst the underbelly, a good bit of the time Chanai is actively seeking out clientele for his courtesan work, other times he is gathering information among the hustle and bustle when he isn’t pushing trades for others. Especially in any tavern that keeps the liquor pouring. Be warned, he may pick your pockets if he's feeling frisky. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder: Chanai is a painter! Commission work is his bread and butter. After all, it helps pay the rent. .

"Be careful with me”: Beware your crossings. Foul-mouthed and quick to temper, Chanai has no problem pressing blades to sensitive areas if you come off as a threat to him. Don't push your luck if you don't want to be gutted from ear to where the blessed Twelve split you. Hidden blades are a comfort for this quick-handed Auri. 

Magiks: A strange dream, coupled with the calling of something restless in his core, has stirred Chanai on a path of newfound discovery that he sets out to know more of and understand the scar on his hand that grants him the ability to see fragment memories of those he touches with it. 

Misc.: Got an idea of how your character's fate intertwines with Chanai? What to throw some headcanons at each other until something sticks? Let's chat shop and brainstorm our way into plotting.

OOC, I AM…

Quite open to almost all forms of roleplay. Chanai is a mature-themed character with mature elements. Please don’t be afraid to ask about anything before we get into any plots, planning, and/or RP that may have darker themes. Anything that would permanently affect my character is something I will not allow unless we’ve discussed it prior.

Well-over the age of 25+

Looking for friends, enemies, and work contacts for this lovely lad

Friendly! You can contact me here on Tumblr, in-game and Discord ChaCha#6994. Discord is easier for me to roleplay, but I also have a tenderness for roleplaying there and here. Can be open to in-game rp. 

On EST

Preferred rping over Discord, personally.

On the Balmung server/Crystal Data Center. 

[capsized-heart]

Little Lamb

Pairing: vampire!Wanda Maximoff x Reader, incubus!Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: Your simple life in the Sokovian countryside is no more. The events of a single night disrupt the natural order of your world. God is silent. He always is.

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: (oh boy..) violence, blood, gore, sacrilegious imagery, explicit smut 

A/N: This is my entry for @thewritingdoll​‘s freaky500 writing challenge! Congrats on 500 followers! <3 I wish I could have finished this before yesterday’s deadline, especially before Halloween since this shit is so dark aha 

I had a lot of fun with this! I honestly wish I could have done more bc I could write about Wanda and Quentin forever..I feel like I had to restrain myself a bit. I really like how both Wanda and Quentin can see someone’s deepest fears and thought that dynamic would be really cool for an au. 

I was also inspired to write this after seeing this beautiful moodboard by @tohomorii​...you honestly killed it with that Wanda vampire aesthetic. 

using the quote prompt, “He’s covered in blood again. Why is it he’s always covered in blood?” -harry potter and the half blood prince

Sokovia, 17th century.

Dawn breaks with rosy hues and warm, vibrant gold. The soft, streaky clouds of early autumn float lazily by, stippling the sky with pinks and baby blues. Your eyes follow a flock of blackbirds as they flicker across a patch of sunlit horizon in a melodious chortle, climbing and climbing beyond to lofty heavens. You smile.

Your purse jingles with the sound of newfound coin. You’ve had a productive morning at market, having left your family homestead yesterday afternoon for the day’s ride. You’d sold your stock of bread and eggs to Ms. Ryba, homemade jams to old Dmitri, trading your other goods for the groceries mother had asked of you. As a surprise, you’d also purchased a small leatherbound book for your papa, a new piece of stitching work and silks for mama. Gifts carefully wrapped in linen and secured in your saddlebag, a small bit of happiness glowing in the crook of your ribs. Your heart feels full. You finger the crucifix around your neck.

Times have been hard for you and your family. This summer’s harvest had been exceptionally low with heat and droughts. Money has never been a luxury and you’ve been broken with the disciplines of how to bargain hard, conserve, safeguard, and how to put the needs of your parents before your own. 

These gifts will bring favor and approval to their eyes. A godly daughter. Honor thy father and thy mother.  

You tilt your face upwards to the flushed morning, relish the fresh breeze tickling your skin and murmur a quick prayer of thanks.

O God, who hast folded back the mantle of the night to clothe us in the golden glory of the day, chase from our hearts all gloomy thoughts, and make us glad with the brightness of hope, that we may effectively aspire to unwon virtues, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

You ride atop Iryna, your family’s tender Carpathian pony now weighed down with your spoils, and watch the fields of your homeland ripple in red and honey light. Even Iryna seems to sense your good mood as her head bobs with her quick gait. You balance a basket of apples in your lap, a reward that you had purchased for her (and for yourself) after a long day’s journey.

This is a safe country, not at all uncommon for young peasant girls to ride to market alone. Broad plains and cut mountains, you’d passed your closest neighbors about ten miles back, welcome solitude on each homestead.

You like to spend your time on these rides daydreaming of riding in a royal procession as princess, or as cavalry returning from battle abroad. How you would be welcomed back home to your kingdom!

Smoke curls from your cottage chimney as the edge of your family’s property comes into view. You squeeze your heels against Iryna in encouragement and she trots faster, the promise of a waiting breakfast and the smiles of your mother and father urging you forward. 

The smell of hay and manure greets you as you lead Iryna into the barn. You adjust your skirts, woolen tunic, riding cloak, and wimplet before dismounting, careful not to catch anything on your saddle or packages. You slide off Iryna’s bridle and feed her an apple, rubbing soothing circles into her neck as she devours the fruit, snorting happily. 

You give her fresh feed, change her water, quickly removing your tack and supplies and turn her out into the pasture, whispering a promise to give her a thorough brushing later. She gallops away with a swish of her tail. With your arms full of supplies and balancing your bushel of apples, you kick through dust and dirt and enter your cottage.

You’re about to call out to your mama when your voice stops in your throat. The nauseating stench of rot fills your nose, familiar and ominous, like when papa slaughters the chickens for winter stock. Only this time it’s inside your home. 

Your arms go limp and your packages fall to the floor in a muffled thud of wrapped paper. Apples bounce, scatter, rolling through soot and blood. 

Your father lies crumpled, his strong body disfigured in a tangle of limbs. His skull has been crushed into a crown of grey matter and gore, leaking like tears down the planes of his face. His eyes and mouth hang open in a frozen, silent scream, twisted skyward in agony. Protectively draped over your mother in his final moments. 

Your mother is spread-eagled with her throat slit open and her veil stuffed into her mouth, rosary beads crudely circled tight around her wrists in manacles. Her skirts have been torn, bunched around her thighs and you see violet bruises in the shape of hands.

You stumble to the hearth and wretch up bile and water. You heave, vomit, tears stinging your eyes and mucus dribbling down your chin until there is nothing left in your stomach but a wriggling pit of nerves. You can’t breathe, can’t think. Strength evaporates from your body and you sink in front of the cooling embers of the fireplace.

You look to the bodies of your parents. You don’t bother trying to feel for a pulse. You are numb.

You stay beside them until the light outside turns bleak and grey, until your legs ache from kneeling on hard wooden floor for countless hours. Slowly, finally, you wipe your mouth, lift yourself up. 

You find the scythe used to harvest wheat. It feels good and heavy in your hands, makes you feel strong. You make rounds to the rest of the property with it tight in your grip.

Your homestead has been completely ransacked. What livestock that hasn’t been stolen lies dead, slain and swarmed by flies. You’re left with one cow, six chickens, two goats, and Iryna. 

You salvage whatever raw materials you can. You return the scythe back to the shed, unused, the sharp, pristine metal gleaming a cool blue. Part of you had hoped that the intruders still lurked about. Maybe then you could have descended upon them with all the silent wrath of Jael, as she had killed Sisera. 

You whistle a low blast. Iryna trots over to you, nuzzles your hand for another treat. It makes you smile and fresh tears to drip down your cheeks. You wonder if she can sense anything awry, sense that your entire world has been violently turned on its head. You don’t think you’ll ever crave apples again. 

They’ll only taste of sin. 

**

It takes you well into the night to dig two deep holes. The ground is frigid with frost and your breath clouds, fogging the air as you work the soil in an eerie echo of familiar, mundane times. Instead of the sun, the moon guides your hand. Instead of toiling the fields to lay in crops, you prepare the graves of your mother and father. 

Sweat slicks your skin, dirt streaking down your neck and arms. The moon has dipped below the hillside when you finish, plunging you in complete darkness. You thrust the spade into the ground.   

You are not strong enough to carry the bodies of your parents. You will have to tie them to Iryna and bring them here to the fields. But you cannot tonight with the last of the moonlight gone.

And tomorrow is the day of the Sabbath, your holy day of rest. You will have to wait to bury them.

You hug yourself tight. From the cold, from the juvenile fear of death and despair.    

Did Christ not feel this way upon the cross? Abandoned by his own father? Alone? 

And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" that is, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

**

You rise late. Fatigue still sits deep in your bones when you go and collect eggs and milk for your breakfast. You step over your mother and father. Splattered blood, now dry, ring around their heads in crimson halos.  

You spend the day idly. You read the book you had bought for your father, practice your stitching with the embroidery hoop and silks meant for your mother. You heat water for a bath and sprinkle in some of the salts and oils she kept tucked away in her bedroom. You wash away tears and dirt and grime. 

You relish the hot water as it seeps into your tense muscles, watch the milky surface ripple around your limbs. The cottage is quiet and seems to settle around you. 

You were always the last to bathe out of your small family. You would be told to fetch and heat the water, waiting until your father finished, then your mother. By the time it was your turn, the bathwater was always cold and dirty. You were not allowed to change it out as it was costly and a waste of time. You would be quick to rinse.

Now, you sit until your fingers becomes wrinkled and pruny, your skin and hair fragranced with the smell of rose petals and lavender. There is no one to scold you to hurry up. 

**

Iryna watches over you as you pack the last of the dirt over the burials. You’re both exhausted. You finish at midday. You finger the crucifix around your neck.

O God, grant unto us, in this dying life, that peace for which we humbly pray, and hereafter to attain unto everlasting joy in Thy presence; through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

**

You pass your days in solitude and in fear. You wonder if the bandits will return. It makes you pray harder, harder than you have in your entire life. You ask for forgiveness, for protection, for salvation.

The windy autumn nights bring chills and unease. The windows rattle in their frames, the cottage groans, and the goats bleat in the pressing darkness.

Visions of your murdered parents dance behind your eyelids. A crown of gore, blood red tears, suffocating rosary beads. The possibility of specters and demons and Satan’s lurking servants seem to hide behind each darkened corner. The homestead feels too vast, too isolating. You feel yourself slowly going mad, every howl of curling wind making you shudder in your cot.

You ask for companionship. A friend to share company.

**

A young woman’s voice calls out to you. The day is abnormally warm and you’re hanging laundry to dry in the sun when you first lay eyes on her.

She wears a riding cloak and veil, a pretty woolen dress of fine cardinal fabric. Her hair falls in loose waves down to her chest, catching the sunlight in a gleam of muted copper. 

She leads the most magnificent looking horse you’ve ever seen. A towering black Clydesdale that stands eighteen hands high with a glossy coat and tail, powerful muscles moving with every stride. Curiously, you see no saddle or tack, only the leather bridle she uses to guide him.

When you approach her, the young woman asks if you are master of the house. You respond with, yes. She smiles and takes your hands in hers, inquiring if she may stay for a few nights before continuing her journey to the next town. She says she will pay you with coin and labor, with whatever help you may need around the property.

The gesture surprises you. Travelers are few in this stretch of country and your family has never housed one before. But, you think of how turning this woman away would mean another day’s ride for her until she reached the next homestead. As you’ve understood, these trails are no longer safe. Especially for a young woman riding alone.

When you agree to offer her lodging, she blesses you with another radiant smile and kisses your cheeks. It’s enduring, warms your heart and tingles your fingers still laced with her own. 

**

As promised, Wanda helps you with your chores. She does not ask about your family or parents or why a young girl of your age could indeed be master of a homestead all by herself. You do not ask why a beautiful woman is traveling alone. Instead, she carefully listens to your instructions and assists you perfectly.

You’ve just finished gathering firewood when the two of you head to the barn to tend to your few and precious livestock. You muck out stalls, change hay and water. Wanda’s Clydesdale watches you from one of the extra stalls you’ve placed him in. 

When Wanda tries to lead out Iryna, she flinches away and flattens her ears in a shrill whinny. It catches you both off guard and you quickly take the rope from Wanda’s hands before Iryna can hurt herself, placating her with a low hush.

“She does not like me.” Wanda frowns. It’s charmingly youthful, makes her look like a pouting child.

“She is not used to strangers,” you soothe, smiling gently. You return Iryna to her stall and slide the door shut. “What is your Clydesdale’s name?” You ask. 

Wanda’s mood seems to lift instantly and you catch a glimmer in her hazel eyes. “Paimon,” she tells you. “Paimon is friendly to everyone, especially strangers. But, he loves pretty girls most of all.”

Later, you invite her into your home and the two of you relax your tired bones by the evening fire. 

**

The days grow cold and dark. You and Wanda now share the bed of your late parents, bigger and warmer than your own. You awake each glowing morning with her slender arms wrapped tight around your waist, her face buried into the crook of your neck. 

For warmth, you tell yourself.

Her sighs, her moans in sleep stir something in the pit of your stomach.

You’re unsure of what other reason you would prefer.

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

**

Wind and rain whistle against the glass panes of your cottage. It is a dreary, bleak morning of storm, one that has forced you and Wanda to remain inside. A fire crackles in the hearth and throws dancing shadows along the walls. You sit and read while Wanda busies herself with housework. It is the first time you’ve felt peace in months. 

She returns from the pantry, setting down her washcloth and bucket with a faint groan. You look up.

Warm, flickering light highlights the skin of her collarbones and cheeks. Wanda has plaited back her hair to keep it out of her eyes, save for a few wispy strands that fall to frame her face.

You swallow, enraptured. 

She catches you staring and her irises seem to glow brighter with firelight. She turns slowly, sauntering towards you with measured, delicate steps. 

“Little one, didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s impolite to stare?” she whispers. She walks until she is flush against you and the fabric of her dress brushes your toes. Without looking away, she eases the book out of your hands and sets it facedown on the table. Your father’s bible.

Your mouth dries up, your pulse hammers. 

Wanda tilts her head, her expression clouding. Then, she sinks to her knees to straddle you completely, arms winding around your neck. 

“Sweet girl, when I ask you a question, I expect a response.”

Her fingers trace your jaw, looking down at you with a stern, flinty gaze. You find your hands holding the swell of her hips, pulling her closer.

“Those who see you will stare and wonder, ‘Is this the man who made the world tremble and shook up kingdoms?’” you recite into the ever closing gap between your mouths. She sighs, high and breathless, feel her overheated body slowly start to move against you. 

Your lips and tongue meet in a tangled kiss. Your first. She tastes of myrtle and honeyed milk. You feel yourself falling when you gently cup this young woman’s face in your hands, kissing and touching and her fingers lustfully twisting into the nape of your neck. Dizzy, ashamed. Your skin is on fire. 

You think of Lucifer’s wings burning away as He hurtled towards earth. 

“I’m so thirsty, my love. Thirsty for you,” Wanda gasps. Her pupils are blown impossibly wide, ringed in red. Her canines glint in the darkness. “Will you let me drink?”

You remember Iryna’s skittishness, Wanda’s beast of a horse, Paimon. No saddle, no luggage. A lone, beautiful woman wandering the countryside with exquisite eyes and sharp, sharp teeth. A devil in masquerade who never intended to leave. 

Slowly, you untie the strings of your dress’s blouse and expose your shoulders, the dip of your chest. Wanda’s lips part hungrily, the shadow of her eyelashes fluttering like feathers. 

She sets you back and runs her fingers over the thin skin of your neck. Her touch is smooth, gentle. Then, she leans over you, keeping you still with a single hand wrapped deliciously around your throat, pressing you deeper into the wooden chair. 

The bite of teeth, then white pleasure. Your vision rolls and you writhe against her in a fit of sighs and otherworldly bliss. Suction, flickering tongue, the obscene sounds of her mouth devouring you whole. You moan, cage her against your body and you hear her chuckle. 

Blood trails down her throat and drips between her breasts when she finally sits back, sated. Half-lidded eyes gazing down at you with more love and adoration than you’ve ever known.

You are her blessed wine. 

Take this, all of you, and drink from it,

for this is the chalice of my Blood,

the Blood of the new and everlasting covenant,

which will be shed for you and for all

so that sins may be forgiven.

Do this in memory of me.

“Amen.” she murmurs with a kiss. 

God is silent. He always is.

**

Wanda pulls you atop her. She cradles your face, smooths back your hair as she looks up at you in the silvered morning light.

“Little one, would you like to live forever?”

The question takes you by surprise, makes you pause. She takes the opportunity to kiss your fingertips, arch her hips into you. It makes your breath hitch, but your mind is clear. 

“As long as it’s with you.” 

She grins, gleaming and bright, the first glimpse of sun you’ve seen in this godforsaken autumn. 

“Oh, my sweet little bride, my princess of night.” she sighs.

“Yes,” you whimper. 

She gazes into your mind and sees what you’ve always wanted.

**

Wanda prepares for the ritual that very evening. Candles, parchment, a single serrated knife. 

She bathes the two of you in the shared tub, washes your hair and cleanses you, a mock baptism with soap and scented oils. Her fingers wander, coaxing pleasure as you lean back against her. 

Finally, she guides you to the bed when the world outside stands cold, silent, watching, at the cusp between night and day. 

Wanda eases your finger between her lips and pricks the skin with the point of her teeth. Her eyes flutter before reluctantly removing it, a string of saliva following suit. You watch the single bead of blood bloom and sign the parchment with a steady hand. 

Cold air brushes your cheeks, skin tingling as if touched, breath in your ear. You feel your vision haze in and out of focus, a foreign sensation overcoming your body. 

Then, a young man appears before you. He’s tall and lean and handsomely bearded, dark hair curling against his forehead, down the tufts of his chest and arms. His eyes, green and glimmering, inspect you carefully, tracing every curve of your exposed skin. You feel achingly vulnerable, pinned. 

Your eyes trail lower and lower until…

You find that he is completely bare. You flush and turn to hide your face into Wanda’s shoulder. She chuckles, gently takes your chin in her hand and tilts your gaze back onto him. 

“This is the flesh of Adam, sweet one,” she murmurs. “It is not shameful to lust. Did God not create man in his own image?”

Wanda reaches out her other hand in offering and the man takes it, lowers himself onto the bed. There is an air of familiarity between the two of them as they share a kiss of greeting. 

“Welcome, Quentin.” she hums. She fondly runs her thumb along his cheek and he leans into her touch. Quentin’s eyes then flicker to you.

“Is this my gift?” he asks. His voice is soft, sweet like honey. Wanda hums again. Quentin smiles warmly, looking you up and down. Your blood ignites.

With one hand on both of your faces, she guides you and Quentin together. He kisses you, surprisingly soft and gentle, cradling your jaw with a touch that makes your stomach flutter. You hear Wanda moving, feel her touch.

Some of the tension wound tight in your shoulders evaporates with Wanda beside you. It encourages you to be braver, bolder as you kiss the incubus back more urgently, touch his skin. Quentin responds with a purr and tangles a hand in your hair, mouthing at your neck, tracing your puncture wounds with a soothing, possessive tongue.

He draws you upon his lap, still pulled flush against him and the heat of him so close to the most intimate part of your anatomy makes you timid, afraid. 

“Relax, lamb.” he whispers. “Enjoy this, enjoy us.”  

The broad touch of his fingers against you makes you mewl in surprise. Wanda hushes you with a soft kiss, takes one of your hands in hers. Quentin’s palm rests on the plane of your stomach, his other easing into where you’re most aching and tight, where a man’s strong touch has never breached. 

He slowly guides your hips upon his hand, until his fingers glisten with your slick and your body starts to warm with the glow of angelfire. 

“Keep going, little lamb,” Quentin urges into your ear. “You know how, don’t you? Those lonely nights when your parents lay fast asleep abed?”

You moan. Indeed you do. Nights where darkness was most suffocating and you prayed that God would turn a blind eye to your lust. 

You shatter with the heat of hell rain. With your body still clenching and fluttering, Quentin lays you out beneath him, his eyes darker, lips turned up into a sly smile. You’re breathless.

He feels cold when he enters you, a sensation you would have least expected from a creature molded by burning sin and Lucifer’s fire. Yet, it pushes your poor, mortal flesh to the thresholds of pleasure and you reach for Wanda, keening. Wanda slinks closer and pushes your hair out of your eyes.

“How does she feel?”

“Like a dream,” Quentin moans, laughing. “You want Wanda and I both, lamb? I can see it in your mind’s eye. So needy, you are. I’ll give you what you want, lamb. You’re doing so good for me.”

**

You don’t remember waking up. A blood moon hangs in the sky.

You feel the lull of pleasure, of Quentin’s lush curls buried between your thighs. Your fingers catch on horns, his velvety tongue forked as it slips into you. 

Your world blurs around you, dreamlike. 

Again, you reach for Wanda and she laces your fingers together with a smile, kisses your damp forehead.

“Is this real?” you moan into her neck.

“As real as your God, sweet one. Are you ready to come home?”

You nod, drowsy with euphoria. You see Wanda take up the silver knife and again, you offer your hand. 

You wince when she slices open your palm, watch the blood seep over and down your arm in great drops. Quentin lifts his head from between your legs, intoxicatingly beautiful with shining lips and heat in his eyes. He keeps his gaze on you as he drives into you again, as your hand stains his chest and neck with crimson, ravishing you again and again. You feel Wanda’s tongue and then the bite of her fangs. 

You arch, reborn with the blessing of immortality and pressed between two demons.

You wonder how many times these two have completed a ritual like this, with Quentin’s powerful body covered in virgin’s blood. 

His blessed cup.

And the Lamb will overcome them, because He is Lord of lords and King of kings, and those who are with Him are the called and chosen and faithful.

[typogoddess]

It’s been a while since I've felt ANY motivation to do some art. But hey, it's a new year and maybe ill be able to do a projects start to finish. 🤣 But hey, it not gonna set ridiculous goals for myself. Lmao

∘ₒ✧──────✧ₒ∘

Nila had left Neil to go catch up with his duties while she went to search for Einara to ask more questions and hopefully receive more answers. It was difficult to spot the ancient mermaid though cause she was in her smaller form so she blended in among the colony, opposed to when she was her full size. She was just about ready to give up when a odd accent caught her ear. She followed it and found Meredith and Einara with a silverish mermaid. Einara seemed pleased to see the large mer.

”Einara..?” she said softly as she swam up to the trio of mermaids.

”Speak of the devil,” Einara said as the little mer swam up to them. ”This is Nila, the one I was speaking of that has some kind of evil within her. I helped to the best of my ability but this is something beyond my years” she says, the sorrow returning to her rough voice, making it appear smoother and warmer. ”I’ve felt..no witnessed, something this treacherous before, long ago. I fret to dare call upon the source if it.”

Muirgen stared down at the smaller mer, worry creasing her brow. “Greetings, Nila. I am Muirgen, Guardian of this Destroyer, an old friend of Einara’s.” She smiled as she said ‘old’, knowing they had no clue exactly how old she was. “I can feel a deep well of old, old evil within you. It must be removed, or you will suffer more than you have already. Would you suffer the indignity of sitting in my palm so I can better understand the nature of what afflicts you?”

After addressing Nila, Muirgen turned to Einara. “You have glamoured your size, but you also intend on remaining here far longer than I do. I will remain as myself, and continue on my way after this business is completed.”

Nila listened carefully as Muirgen spoke, she had to strain her ears to understand her accent. There was something about it that brought a sense of familiarity about her but she couldn’t quite place it. It gave her a headache when she dare try to remember. When asked to sit in the mermaid's palm she was hesitant but with a glance towards Einara, she took a breath and swam up to meet her hand. ”An old evil within me...?” she murmurs softly.

Einara removes the glamour as Nila takes a seat in Muirgen's hand. ”Something called me here, that's why I had left you in the kelp forest and strayed from our usual patrol. Something pulled me here, I would be so bold to say it's this young mermaid.” she says and curls herself around Muirgen, coiling a time and a half around her, to watch. ”There’s other auras around here that strain me cause they equate to what I feel from your energy, but the only other I know that equals you is Atalante and she never leaves our home. Do you feel them as well?”

As she questions Muirgen the glow of the sun dips beneath the surface and brings on a silver glow to announce the arrival of night and a full moon as well. ”Well isn't that convenient ” she chuckles

As she focused on the small mermaid sitting lightly in her palm, Muirgen bent her ears to Einara’s voice. “Yes, I feel them, as I said when I arrived,” she muttered absently. “The one presence, I do not know, but the other, you and I both know well, for varying reasons. He has returned to the oceans once more.” As the light from the surface of the water filtering down dimmed and silvered, the smallest amount of light began emanating from her, as if compensating for the loss of the sun. “The best time for magicks is moon-tide, and that is also when I am strongest. Let me see what I can see.” As she spoke, her eyes fluttered closed and she brushed a finger up Nila’s back, stopping between her shoulder blades. As the waters darkened, the glow of the moon seemed to envelop her, brightening the waters around the three of them.

Long minutes passed before Muirgen opened her eyes and turned an anguished gaze upon Einara. “Ara....it’s a blood curse.”

Nila shivered as she felt the cool touch of Muirgens finger slip up her spine before stopping. She felt as though an energy was being drawn out from her but also as though a war was raging within her. As Muirgen studied her Nila’s appearance flickers between her true and glamoured forms, her true peaks through the veil of her glamour.

Einara watched enchanted by what she was witnessing. She too glowed from the moon and her eyes glazed over ever so slightly now to appear completely black with a purple tinge. The bold hues of blue throughout her tail brightening as she felt the magick, good and bad emanating around them. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with and something she had thought was long forgotten.

”A blood curse..?” she whispered, unable to remove the tremor of her true fear in her voice. ”no...thats not possible...”

“Aye, a blood curse, Ara, and a strong one at that. You couldn’t affect it because the one who cast it is older than you.” Muirgen’s eyes flew open and focused purple flames on Nila. “Small one, may I ask you to prick your finger? Or somehow draw blood. I need to know that I’m wrong.” Glancing over her shoulder at Einara, she let the anxiety eating her insides show through her eyes for a moment before masking it again and turning back to Nila.

Nila looked between the two large mers and couldn't hide the growing fear that was building within her. She listened carefully as the two spoke to one another all while trying to regain control over her sporadic shifting. It took some time to stop, however, it didn't land on the appearance she masked herself with the majority of the time. She was in her true form, blue skin that rivalled the crystal colours of shallow waters and bright skies with sharp iridescent spikes clustered over her shoulders. Long talons for claws on her fingers, black as ink as if from a squid that reaches up to her forearm nearly to her elbow. Her eyes were bright red in contrast to the rest of her appearance and when she opened her mouth a double set of fangs we're visible. As the silver mermaid requested Nila lightly pricked her finger on a fang, looking up to meet the purple gaze upon her.

Meeting Muirgens gaze Einara whispered a single word that was shared between them. An energy flowed through the water and a dim white hue, glimmering with vibrant colours barely visible, emanated from Einara to enclose the three of them. There was an erethral calming sound within the bubble. Although her lips barely moved Einara sang a enchanting song, one she rarely ever used as it was like a locating beacon for the worst part of her life to hone in on her. But she was more concerned with leaching away the anxiety that was pooling up within Muirgen, never had she seen her fellow ancient so spooked and troubled. Someone so calm and strong to have been shak

Through their connection, Einara spoke to Muirgen within the privacy of their thoug

’Is it him?’

[formerly-rosaline]

About Rose

I’m not sure if I already have one of these, and I can’t find a template to make one, so I’m just gonna shoot my shot and do my best here.

Full name: Rosaline Pearl Sirena Draconus Durant

Time and place of birth: Wednesday, April 1st, 1992 at 3:01am (the witching hour) in the Touro Infirmary Hospital of New Orleans, Louisiana.

Zodiac: Aries sun (fire), Pisces moon (water), Aquarius rising/ascendant (air). Pisces, Aquarius, and Capricorn (earth) dominate her natal chart. Monkey (water). Alder tree. Red hawk/falcon. 

Species explanation and list: Came about through ritual as well as conception originally; her soul collects more species each time she’s born (reincarnated) to non-human souls. Her soul is fragmented, there are more Roses throughout the world of different names. She only inherits certain traits from each species. She is predominantly draconic, sirenic, and succubic. Rose also has some wolf/lycanthrope, vampire (tribrid - blood, energy, and sexual separate from the succubus), banshee, Valkyrie (last life as one), Amazonian, basilisk (possibly only for this life), fairy, human, and possibly more - she doesn’t know everything just yet. Without feeding, her abilities become even more drastically limited. 

Characteristics: Abilities may begin in childhood, but Rose’s memories don’t begin to resurface until teenhood and young adulthood. She may also repress her memories, furthering the process, in attempts at normalcy. Jack of all trades. Artist, but not in the layman usage of the word - dancer, singer, creative writer, musician. STEM major, always good at STEM. Linguaphile; often multilingual. Current fluencies: English and French, with some German, Spanish, Latin, Greek, Korean, and Russian. Much of her interest in languages and ability to learn them rapidly stems from former lives. Very pensive and philosophic, a stoic in the regular sense of the word but an existentialist in practice. 

Favorites: 

Fast food: Whataburger

Ice cream: chocolate chip cookie dough

Sushi: eel

Starburst: pink

Jolly Rancher: blue

Color: every shade of blue

Feature: her eye color

Dish at Olive Garden: The Tour of Italy

Italian dish: Alfredo anything

Asian dish: Japchae

Steak: Medium rare filet mignon

Eggs: over easy

Pizza topping: pineapples

Comfort food: macaroni and cheese

Wine: Riesling

Thanksgiving dish: Stuffing

Ice cream topping: mochi or cookie dough

Alcoholic drink: Scotch

Starbucks drink: Chai latte, affogato

Harry Potter film: Deathly Hallows part 2, but book is Goblet of Fire

Marvel movie: Avengers Infinity War

Beatles Song: Hey Jude

Instrument: drums

Band: Snow Patrol 

Person: George Lewis

One Hit Wonder: Cars by Gary Numan

Beach: Pfeiffer Beach, Los Padres National Forest, California

Animal: goat

Season: fall

Thing about a rainy day: staying in

Flower: Lily. Seriously. Don’t fucking buy her roses, it’s not funny.

Sea creature: her damn self

Winter sport: luge

Fairy tale: Vasilisa the Beautiful 

Eye color: green

Day of the week: Saturday

Way to relax: hot bath

Thing to do: make others smile

Mental disorders: PTSD (doesn’t deal with her past traumas, emotionally detached, dissociates regularly), bipolar disorder. Eating disorders, elaborated on at the end of this post to prevent triggering. Substance abuse disorder (alcoholism and more).

Abilities: generally, able to do much by pure will and thought. “If looks could kill,” incarnate. Some technopathy. Outbursts of preternatural strength. Slight elemental control, minor mind control. Communication with entities beyond the veil despite her attempts to shut them out. Astral projection. 

More abilities and characteristics, positive and negative, by species:

1. Dragon: old soul/wise beyond her years, increased intelligence, heightened senses, increased empathy and strength, stronger persuasion via a golden tongue, foresight or future-delving. Manipulation, word twisting, speaking in riddles. Strong debater. Bloodthirsty. Intensely greedy. Power hungry. Delusions of grandeur. Arrogant. Pansexual. Extroverted. Stubborn and/or hard-headed. So cold you’d bet she’s anemic. Close-minded. TOO LOUD. She wants your heart, but on a GOLDEN platter; she’ll never love you. You are so beneath her, who the fuck do you think you are? Enemy of the siren. Fiercely loyal to those who have earned it. Family is the most important thing. Money can buy happiness, and it has for her. Warmest smile. Tacky bitch. Really good at Words with Friends, Scrabble, fighting you, chess. Wants you to succeed in life, and gives you unsolicited advice on how to do it all the time. Annoying. Always has an upset tummy. Does she have IBS? Beyond the veil: red with orange eyes. Your typical bigass crimson red dragon, will breathe fire on you. Her kind is less prevalent than they once were.

2. Siren: leads people astray readily. Seduction. Outright deception. Enticement and intimidation via a silver tongue. Increased strength and agility. Strong swimmer. Telepathy with other sirens. Enemy of the dragon. Brutal bitch. Savage, almost feral at times. Ambivert. Manipulative. Intensely maternal. Your mom friend to the extreme. Loving. Pansexual. Invasive. Monster. Might eat your liver in the pool. Always too hot. God, that voice, let’s hope you never hear it. Opera. SUSHI!!!!. Friendly, communal even, but only with those she considers family. Too good for pop music unless it’s Ariana Grande; increased hearing, gets audio overload at any normal volume. Subtitles, please. Can’t fucking understand English to save her life. Will teach you sirenic, but you can’t speak it. Whistle notes. LOWER YOUR FUCKING VOICE. Half-naked, huge tits. Firm hugger. Beyond the veil: ugly ass deep sea thing you never want to see, but her Venetian red tail is pretty... Second, translucent eyelid. Sirens of the sea are populating as rampantly as always, given the content of the earth which is saltwater. Avoids all of her kind to protect one she loves.

-Unpopular with both dragons and sirens due to some old war. These two species are most dominant.

3. Succubus: a touch that can manipulate, seduce, control, compel. Feeding, starving. Glamour. Conceited. Preppy bitch. Sarcastic. A gaslighter. Manipulative. Extroverted. PANSEXUAL, literally doesn’t care, will fuck you, don’t let her. Fake. Craves you. Enemy of the siren. She’s that overly sexual friend where you can never really tell whether they’re kidding or really trying something with you, you know? She’ll never tell, either. Got that?? Fear her. Run; she will definitely fuck your brains out and fucking eat you, God she’s fucking starving. RUN. Don’t give her a drink, and so help you if she gets to three or more. There is no God; God is dead, she has killed him, she drained his chi. RUN AWAY: fucking demonic. Don’t let her in. She made sure no one is here to help. Don’t look at them. They won’t help you; they’re under her control. You will be too. Beyond the veil: Horns. Tail. Wings. Greyish-purple all over, even her eyes; looks like a gargoyle. She doesn’t eat enough to pigment, and who cares? Glamour will make her perfect anyway. Finds feeding unethical. Slip-ups happen, though; I’m coming for you.

4. Wolf: increased agility, strength, and durability. Heightened stamina, senes. Increased stamina. Fast healing. Telepathy with other wolves. FIERCELY loyal. Respectful. Hungry. Bloodthirsty. Feral. Beast. Aching in her soul and bones. Titanium. Sushi. Friendly and communal all the time. Pansexual. Major ambivert. Audio overload too. Will cry if someone raises their voice from across a room. You’re too boomy. Stop that. Will kill anyone who makes you shed a tear. Don’t let her. Specifically tell her not to while you are crying. She will do it, I swear. Alpha bitch. Beyond the veil: albino Eurasian wolf, mistaken for an Arctic wolf. Icy grey eyes. Her kind is dead; those eyes show it. What’s an alpha without a pack? Heartbroken. 

5. Valkyrie: Literally wishing to death, has to stop herself from it because it’s so easy. Planting doubt in the minds of the steadfast and resolute. Asexual. Will give you hallucinations. Manipulative. Spooky bitch. Might want you dead, might not. Don’t cross her or she’ll imagine you to eternal slumber. You won’t be in Valhalla, either.

6. Amazonian: Increased strength. Tracker. Skilled with weapons. Will navigate. Misandry. Lesbian. Introverted. Feminist bitch. Will stab you.

7. Banshee: Future-delving. A screech that will drive you mad and physically harm you only when members of inhuman royalty are dying. Introvert. Asexual. Beyond the veil: Blind as a bat, deaf as a white cat. Only sees the astral world in her head. Just looks like herself minus the white eyes. Only brought out by screaming, and terrified the entire time, but can remain after. Will cough or vomit blood for a while after screaming. Can’t control it. Scared bitch. Voice may not return to normal for weeks. Enemy of the siren. Prefers to, and sometimes must remain after screaming, mute. Cannot sign. Can see and feel your energy.

8. Basilisk: Increased ability to intimidate. Muted. Affinity for reptiles. No other abilities or notable change. Beyond the veil: she cannot turn into the giant snake of lore, nor turn to stone. If looks could kill, she would just kinda spook you. Literally just herself. Angry bitch.

9. Fairy: No increased abilities but she’s cuter and has more of a sweet tooth. Vocal change to higher pitch. Please give her Jaffa cakes, hot tea, and head pats. Beyond the veil: a tiny, wingless fairy of greens, golds, and purples. Don’t let the look fool you. Evil bitch. 

10. Vampire: Increased sense of hearing and smell. Bloodlust. Ability to compel. Seduction. Extrovert. Clean freak. If there's no blood on her, it's like she never did it. Feeds on the environment around her, including people, naturally. Constantly tries to keep that shut off. Wants very badly to eat you. Hungry bitch.

Sometimes she wakes up a certain species, sometimes situations or location bring them out. Sometimes the need to feed or emotions will cause certain species to rush to forefront. This is akin to having different personalities, but it’s all her. 

Face Claims: 

-Young Adult (main): Penelope Mitchell, The Vampire Diaries, The Curse of Downers’ Grove, Hemlock Grove.

-Adult: Jennifer Morrison, House, Once Upon a Time, Star Trek.

-Teenage: Jenny Boyd, Legacies, Hex, Viking Quest.

-Child: Emily Alyn Lind, Revenge, Enter the Void, J. Edgar.

Physically in this realm: curly blonde, cornflower-eyed, average height (around 5′6″), girl next door but relatively average appearance, with multiple piercings (nipples, several ear piercings, and belly). Birth mark on the top of her left breast.

TRIGGER WARNING: EATING DISORDERS, SELF HARM:

.

.

She has a highly fluctuating weight (between 114 and 178) due to eating disorders - anorexia nervosa restrict type and bulimia nervosa binge purge type. Sheuses exercise, laxatives, suppositories, etc rather than the usual purging. Faint cut scars adorned her thighs and left wrist; she had them tattooed to cover them but the white lines still showed. There was a flower over the wrist, a portrait of a fox on her right thigh, and a portrait of a Renaissance-era woman on her left. There were cigarette burns inches below the Renaissance woman and the flower tattoo. There was another one midway on her outer right forearm.

.

.

[docholligay]

The Siren and The Centaur,part One: The Reflection of the Moon on the Water

Another Patreon release!!This is the commission from Elaina/Rhio! I hope all of you enjoy it, and if you do, tell her! Maybe she'll commission the continuance of the story, though I think this is plenty readable as one standalone, too. 2.840 words.

She loved the world she lived in. She loved the way the sun and the wind made the wheat into a sea when it grew tall enough, the way it rolled and danced like an ocean made of sunshine. She loved to run the entire length of the island, to the edge where the water splashed up against the rocks and roared. She loved the crisp smell of the forest in winter, when the snow laid upon the branches and the birds were still.

She loved the stories the old folks told, about the things that lived on the island, the different peoples who lived mostly on in each other’s imaginations. The pixies that lived at the far garden fields to the south, and the bright and colorful world there, with parties you could see at night, if you looked, tiny dancing balls of colored light over the deep grass. The serpents of the high rocks, whose claws could crush a centaur without effort, who could breathe ice and fire and who sometimes soared over the island. And the mermaids, the mermaids were her favorite, dwelling in the deep unknown of the sea--she had been to the rocks, and she often went to the garden fields, but centaurs, as a rule, did not go to the sea, and it contained all the tales that thrilled and frightened the colts.

She even loved her little town, and her little job in it, working as an apprentice blacksmith, spending her nights going to the little bar where her friend Mina worked slinging ales and ciders, where her friend Mako would bring leftovers from her little bakery. All was small and all was perfect, and very rarely did Haruka ever feel that something was missing from her life. Even when she did, she could not have conjured what the answer to the riddle might have been, and would have simply taken another ale, and another honeycake, and thought no more on the matter.

But even the sun enters the sea, sometimes, they say, and Haruka did occasionally fall into melancholy as dramatically as a rock falls into the ocean, and just as difficult to reclaim.

It was on an occasion such as this that Mina found herself rapidly losing patience with her gangly golden friend.

“Haruka,” she put a chipped ceramic mug of ale on the long wooden bar, “I promise you, by the time Harvest Festival rolls around you’ll have forgotten all about...whatever it is you’re upset about.”

Haruka’s head shot up from its place on the bar. “You don’t even know??”

“Who can keep track? Hey Jesper.” She held her hand up in a brief greeting as the man entered the bar. “The usual?”

He nodded gruffly and laid a coin on the bar as Haruka continued, Mina half-interestedly pouring a mug of cider.

“Oh, it’s NOTHING, I GUESS,” she threw her arms out dramatically in front of her, “just that...I’m obviously meant to go through this world,” She stubbornly jutted out her chin, “I guess I’m meant for something else. Something more. And if I have to be alone, and I have to help this world myself...I--”

“Oh, this is about Illinka being out last night with Pallavi.” Mina rolled her eyes. “Maybe your big dramatic quest is to actually ask a girl out instead of just waiting around and being dramatic in front of her.”

“I am not dramatic!” Haruka thumped her fists against the bar, knocking over her ale onto her shirt. “God...dammit.”

“Kay.” Mina tossed a bar rag at her.

“Don’t say okay that way, Mina.” She frowned heavily, wiping at her shirt.

“Listen,” Mina continued, “I’m going up to Percheron at the end of the moon. Tons of girls there. Haflinger’s just...small. There’s someone out there for you, my moody blonde friend.”

“Met my husband at a sale up in Percheron.” Jesper added, in his helpfully grumpy way..

“See?” Mina gestured. “Percheron. Great place. Come with me, we’ll hook up. Kind of the only place I can meet guys. Social deviant and all.”

Jesper shook his head disapprovingly.

Haruka nodded. “Percheron it is, then.” She shrugged. “I guess.”

Mina leaned over the wood of the bar, leaning her elbow on it. “We’ll have a hell of a time, Ruka. Percheron parties to rival a pixie. And who knows? Happiness might be where you least expect it.”

And that, Haruka would concede for the whole of her life, was very true.

___

But there were weeks before the end of the moon, and while Haruka had resolved herself to go to Percheron with Mina, she had not quite been able to shake the simple melancholy that had settled over her.

Haruka was a contradiction in herself, people often said. She was powerful and strong, and one of the fastest centaurs in town. She was delicate in other ways, her Da and Pere had often said, the kind of girl who would uncomplainingly break her arm, and whose heart broke at an the smallest rejection. She had tried very hard, over the course of her life, to become the tough, brash, calloused thing her body and her mouth clearly wanted her to be, but her heart had trouble cooperating, and maybe it wasn’t so hard to see why Illinka hadn’t chosen to return her affections.

The swampy forest at the end of the island was the stuff of nightmares for many a colt. And Haruka, in her adult life, knew there were good reasons to frighten them off--the roots jutted unevenly out of the marshy ground, the dapple of the sun through the heavy foliage could be disorienting, and if you fell and broke your leg, no one might find you. Centaurs had lost their lives in this bog.

And Haruka had, quite without realizing it, wandered there.

Normally, at this point, she simply would have turned around, headed back to Haflinger, and maybe stopped in at Mako’s bakery for a cookie and a bit of comfort, and then maybe she would head off to Mina’s house of a chat, and her life would seem about as pleasant as it generally was, and she would hold the promise of Percheron in her heart.

But there was a small light that caught her eye, in the dark there, that might have been a will-o-the-wisp, and might have been a spot of sunlight streaming through the branches, and which the answer was didn’t really seem to matter, as Haruka’s hooves seemed to move on their own.

The shadows played against the deep green of the swampy floor, where mosses seemed to pass for grass, cushioning strangely the step of Haruka’s hoof, giving way as if she were stepping on a mattress, springing back as her hoof left it. The little points of light came like confetti, dancing across Haruka’s back and shoulders.

This was a foolish idea, Haruka knew. She’d told no one where she was going, or how lo9ng she might expect to be there. She had a habit of that, that had long annoyed her Da and Pere, who sometimes, when she was a child, had spent too many dinnertimes calling out into the tall grass, wondering where their impulsive and wayward daughter had gone.

And still she drew deeper, as if called, as if sang to in the tender lullaby of this dark land.

A beam of light appeared, in the distance, and Haruka cocked her head as she looked at it.

She could hear the fall of water, and though she knew she could not be far from the ocean, not now, it seemed somehow different. Like the waterfall at the edge of the serpent’s rocks, almost although Haruka knew that could not possibly be true. This place was too deep to have such a think, the soil too wet and soft to have the jutting rock with the silver water spilling down over them like a veil. She had been fascinated by it, as a child. Mina’s Ma once had to pull her back, when she had gone too close during a picnic.

Centaurs drown easy, she had said

___

Michiru was bored, much of the time, but much of it she considered her own fault. It was not that there were not a dozen entertainments in her kingdom, all easily had and ripe for the taking. The sea was a land of plenty, and there were always lavish banquets and dances, concerts to hear and art to be made. They cavorted with the dolphins and drowned the humans and took their treasure, and all should have been well in any siren’s world.

And she could admit all these things, that her world was lovely and bright, and filled with endless treasures, and her people were jovial and elegant, and that she had no reason to feel even the smallest bit of malaise at her station in life. From the time she was young, she had found no fascination with the brightly colored trinkets and magical songs, always looking for something else, something more, and nothing had ever found that magical place in her where excitement was kindled, true and real, like the land’s fire, that she had seen from afar, never burning under the sea.

On this day, she let out a deep and low sigh, reclining against the rock in her bedroom.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, your father is the emperor.” Rei picked at her metallic red fin, and looked back up at Michiru, annoyed. “It must be so hard here, in your giant room in your giant palace.” She picked up a stuffed piece of sea cucumber, rich with sea cream, and considered it.

“God ahead and take them, they were from a suitor who thinks I will somehow care for her if she brings pointless little treats.” Michiru remained reclined on her rock, teal tail sheening with navy as the light played over it. “The scarf, as well. “

Rei picked up the scarf, a silken length in purple and red, danced with golden trim. “This is a rarity, you know, and plenty of sirens--”

“Rei, you tire me.”

She still clutched the scarf in one hand, fist balled. “Oh, you’re tired! I’m the one who has to put up with your bourgeois apathy, every single day, when you have everything, everything! You could possibly--”  

Michiru turned up onto her hand and looked over at Rei. “So I shall take that as a rejection of these gifts as well? No matter, I’m sure Mohini will happi--”

“I didn’t say that,” She tied the scarf in her hair, “I mean, someone should be using it, I think, and it goes really nice with my fin.” She picked up the cucumbers. “I’ll give these to Usagi.”

Michiru laughed. “Of course.”

Rei tilted her head, and made the rare choice toward compassion at Michiru’s melancholy boredom.

She swam over to her, eyebrows knitted in thought. “Do you want to go down to the shipwreck, on the other side of the island?”

“It’s not strictly necessary to attempt to cheer me, Rei.” She twirled the shell necklace against her collarbone.

Rei threw up her hands, annoyed, finally, though not defeated, she would never say defeated, just playing hardball. “Well fine,” She snatched up the box of sea cucumbers, “I’ll just take Usagi. You can sit here and pout in your palace.”

“Yes,” Michiru laid back down on her bed, “I believe I shall.”

It was a lie, of course--the palace was too full of bothers and interruptions for her to think properly, with servants and her parents and an endless parade of very boring and useless suitors. It was, very likely, not incorrect, the things Rei said about her--that she was spoiled and decadent and had no idea of the kind of advantages she had--but also, she cared little. Her life was a string of moments, each more stunningly boring than the last. The music and art adn poetry and dance of the palace meant nothing to her.

But, at the very least, she had her lagoon, which she favored so well, and in which she found a certain amount of peace and reflection, and it was there that she planned on going, never to tell a soul that it existed at all, buried as it was through tiny caves where eels slipped in and, only to surface in the turquoise jewel of the light-flecked lagoon.

She tucked her hair into a gold band, and swam off into the sweet deep of the sea.

___

Haruka entered the clearing, the trees tightly knit around the edge of a deep and crystalline pool, the waterfall bubbling lace into the deep blue. It was an oasis in the deep of this swampy forest, and Haruka was pleased to have found it, even if there was not much here for her. It seemed to drop off right at the edge. It must be connected to the sea, somehow, although the water looked fresh. She had heard of this, little pools filtered by the sandy loam that lived at the edge of the island, but she had never seen one before.

She knelt by the edge of it, letting her fingers drag through the water. It was cool and sweet, and the light danced across it in little jumps and hops, springing to her eyes like fireworks.

It was a nice place to be alone with her own thoughts, to think forward on the trip to Percheron, on what she would wear and what she would say to the mares there, wordly and impossibly beautiful. They couldn’t want much with a country bumpkin from Haflinger, but she was determined to try. At the very least, she had promised Mina she would try.

She opened the bag slung around her and took out a thick sandwich she’d prepared that morning. She’d told herself she didn’t plan to be out long today, that she was going to stay home a bit and help with the garden out back, but the bag she packed had said differently, her thick sandwich and the small bottle of drink with its thick cork in the top, loosed with a satisfying pop.

She brushed a few crumbs off her shirt, licking a bit of mustard off her finger. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, her shirked responsibilities, which she would surely catch hell for, aside.

There was something else, though, some sense in the air of being watched. She looked around, but nothing seemed to be lurking in the deep of the trees, and there was certainly nothing that could be seen by the pool.

She shrugged. It was nothing, she was sure. Mina was always accusing her of being jumpy.

She brought her sandwich to her lips again, when something burst out of the water in front of her, breaking the surface in a smooth silver motion, not two feet from where Haruka sat at the edge of the lagoon.

She sprung to her hooves and reared, accidentally stomping her sandwich as she came back down.

“Oh!” Michiru cried out, “I had no intention of frightening you so. I apologize.”

The softness of her voice and her extended hand made Haruka feel a little silly, as her hooves still stomped impatiently on the ground. “I wasn’t scared.”

“No, of course not,” Michiru looked up at her, her teal hair making ribbons in the clear blue water, “just surprised, I imagine.”

“A mermaid.” Haruka stared at her in amazement. “I’ve never….I’ve never seen one before.”

“Mermaid.” the word fell off her tongue with raw fascination. Yes, of course, that must be what they called sirens. It was ugly and didn’t go with her, in any way that  she could conceive, and yet, she could not remove it from her mind.

It was not so unlike the horsegirl who stood before her now, looking at her with wide grey eyes. She had never seen one before, not up close, only running on the coastlines of the island she lived so near. She had been told they looked the most like sirens, out of any of the tribes of creatures in her world, but that seemed a lie, so close. Her body was broader and more muscular than a siren’s, even the great strong ones who guarded the castle. It made sense, she supposed, matching the body they shared with horses.

Did she know about horses? It was on the far side of the sea where they lived, where men rode them as beasts of burden, where they did not have the cleverness and wit of a real creature. It was very likely that she did not, horsemen did not sail, not that she had ever seen or had ever been written in a textbook.

The horsegirl was still staring at her wordlessly.

“Michiru,” she said, “My name is Michiru.”

“Haruka,” she put her hand to her chest, almost surprising herself by the introduction, “That’s what they call me.”

[mae-i-scribble]

Experimental Chapter 8

Summary: Toffee took both Star and Marco in Storm the Castle. After months of imprisonment and experimentation, they have escaped, but not without scars. Each have a half of the wand infused in their chests, along with the strange ability to turn into beasts, but both are left with little memories besides for their names. Not accepted by human or monster, they must fight for their survival while trying to regain the fragments of the lives they were torn away from.

Link to prologue: :https://marleymaely1234.tumblr.com/post/162144555257/experimental-prologue-a-star-vs-the-forces-of

Marco rested his head in his paws, giving the setting sun a thoughtful glance from their shelter dug out in the mountainside. Even so, his eyes are already drooping. The had traveled hard today, pushing both of them to their limits.

Still, Star was fidgeting beside him, her paws twitching and moving as she tried in vain to relax. He couldn't blame her though, not when his mind was on edge too.

He couldn't pinpoint it, not exactly, but it was a feeling in his chest, something dark and sticky and exactly like the Lizard. Marco could feel it, and apparently, so could Star. The thought of the Lizard being anywhere near Star made his fur bristle and his stomach sink all at once.

He didn't like this though, the new, unwelcome bubbling in his chest. He especially didn't like the fact that it seemed to be growing larger with every breath he took.

All they knew was that somehow, the Lizard was getting closer, and all they could do was keep on running.

"My only question is why haven't we reached them yet." Moon's armor bit into her skin through the fabric of her clothes, adding to her ire. "With your scissors, we should have seen them days ago."

"I'm trying," Heckapoo snaps back, absentmindedly pulling Rhombulus away from the unwitting carnivorous plant he had been about to freeze. "but you know how the wand has spells around it that prevent you from creating a portal near it? Those are still in effect, and since the wand is fused to the kids, I can't find them either."

"Omnitraxus better get here soon." Moon muttered, staring sullenly as Lekmet bleated aggressively at Rhombulus, who looked like a toddler getting scolded by their parent for a crime they were sure to commit again.

Moon slid past the two, Heckapoo following close behind. She knew they would catch up as soon as they realized they were being left behind.

Left behind. She hadn't told River about this, or Star, or Toffee's return, and the guilt was starting to eat away at her. But she couldn't burden him with this, not when he was finally starting to revert to his cheerful self. Sure, he still had the same hesitance and cloud of loss that Moon had, but he was so much better than he had been when Star had first gone missing.

She resolved to tell him after it was over. After she had Star back to her normal self, she would tell River everything. He would probably pout for a few days, but it would be worth it, to save him from her current pain.

Besides this should be over soon enough. All they had to do was wait until Omnitraxus showed up, let him find Star, and then bring her home.

Moon could hardly wait.

Star trailed out in front of Marco, the crunch of forest leaves under her paws as they ran. Well, they were only going at a fast jog really, to save energy. She would much rather be full out sprinting, but Marco had said they shouldn't, in case whatever they were sensing caught up to them.

Whatever it was, whether it was the Lizard or some other enemy, Star was ready to tear it apart already.

She knew what it was like to be trapped, to be tested on, to have her freedom taken. Never again would she go through that, or let Marco go through that again.

But lately, there was a scent in the wind, a feeling in her bones that spelled disaster. Marco felt it too, although to him it was a weight in his chest, one that Star couldn't feel herself.

That didn't matter though, because they both agreed on one thing, they needed to keep moving, to outrun the scent in the wind that trailed behind them.

Neither of them had really gotten any decent sleep for the past couple days, each too nervous to relax completely. Now they had a schedule to decide on who would keep watch each night. It slowed them down, but at least one of them would sleep well every other night.

Last night had been Marco's turn to watch, tonight was hers. So the slower pace was nothing for her to complain about.

She just hoped the scent would fade away.

Moon smiled as Omnitraxus familiar form appeared beside their campfire, the swords in his skull rattling as he spoke.

"I found them, they're resting in a cave by one of the big mountains."

"We'll go after them in the morning?" Heckapoo asked, although it looked like she already knew the answer.

"Just after dawn." Moon replied, giving a small sigh. Even now, the hours from now until their departure seemed almost infinite.

Moon stared out into the dark trees surrounding them, glinting with hungry eyes that didn't dare come closer. She filtered out Rhombulus' excited shout, only noting how the eyes flinched away from the sound. It reminded her of the first and only time she had seen Star. When her own daughter had fled from her touch.

That would change tomorrow though, as soon as they could get Star and bring her home, then things could finally work themselves out.

Toffee sighed, running a hand, the one that still had all four fingers, through his mane of hair.

He still couldn't find a decent army to go against his- well pets didn't seem appropriate, but neither did failures, because they were far from failures. Experiments suited them though, his escaped experiments.

But even if they weren't failures, they sure were a nuisance. A few of his monsters had run into them by chance; it hadn't ended to well for the monsters and now they spread rumors about the power of his experiments.

Now he was left scrounging for any monster that would agree to the job. Especially when they knew the Queen of Mewni was going to be involved.

On the bright side, Moon was finally on the move, with the High Commission in tow. It was almost too perfect.

The glint of scissors caught his eye, the edge of their red handles and diamond centerpiece just visible within the cracked drawer in his makeshift desk. His last one had been burned down with the fire that his experiments had made.

His sneer turned into a small grin at the sight as he let himself indulge in the sweet taste of arrogance.

He was so close, and all the pieces he needed were falling into place.

Marco sniffed the air, his chest stirring uncomfortably. Star slept beside him, taking a small nap after her night spent on watch.

The sky was a dull grey, it's normal blue hidden by the tumultuous rumbling of the dark clouds. Not even the rising sun was visible through the veil. Marco could smell the upcoming storm, but even under that, he could still sense a trace of something more sinister, more intense. He could feel his lips curl upward as his claws dug into the ground.

He knew Star was ready to fight, but he was ready to flee more than anything. He was sick of fighting, sick of killing. His time in the pit had given him that.

The only time he could even remember fighting someone for any other reason than protecting Star had been when the strange human had stumbled too close for comfort. That human had reeked of magic, strong magic at that. They had feared it was connected to the Lizard, so Marco had volunteered to go first, try and drive the strange human away before it could take them by surprise.

The clouds rumbled again, and Marco flinched at the sudden noise. Hunching his shoulders, he resolved to wake Star up soon, no matter how much he would rather do the opposite.

He didn't know how long it had been when something else shifted beside him, a surge of magic washing over him as the world seemed to be torn open before his eyes.

He jumped back to stand over Star, a paw nudging her side to rouse her.

"What is it?" Star asked groggily, but the drowsiness vanished as soon as she saw the tear in front of her.

A blade of sorts cut through the center of the tear, which was outlined in orange and red.

Star was on her paws and growling by the time the first foot entered through the tear.

"We should go, we might be able to outrun them." Marco huffs, his tail lashing behind him.

"With a power like that? They'd find us in no time. Let's just beat them here." Star snarled, although she did leap down to a nearby clearing, Marco following suit.

They were pressed side by side when the whole entourage had emerged from the tear, or at least, the tear that had closed behind the strange beings.

Marco's eyes found their way to a familiar figure of a human exuding strange, powerful magic, and his growl grew deeper. He didn't recognize the variety of beings standing or floating around her though, and the thought of not knowing an enemy that outnumbered him was unsettling.

Star seemed to echo his thoughts, lowering herself closer to the ground as her stone began to glow.

"Star, Marco, we just want to bring you back home." The strange human stepped forward, her armor matching the dark clouds behind her. "Just let us help you."

"Just leave us alone." Star snapped back, but Marco noticed the way her breath hitched, how her paws moved just slightly forward at the sound of the human's voice. "Or else we won't have a choice."

"That sounded like a 'no' to me." One of the human's companions said, the bright colors adorning both her clothing and features outlining her against the sky.

"Can we freeze them now?" The crystal being asked, his hand moving like they had minds of their own. The goat rumbled something unintelligible, while the floating skull remained silent.

"They can't understand us like this." Marco reminded Star, watching her closely as she took a step forward, then another. By the time he realized what she was planning, he was too far away to stop her from shifting.

Star looked so small, glaring up at the group of beings. The wind picked up, making her tattered dress swirl around her thin form.

"Leave us alone!" Even her voice sounded small, as hoarse and unused as it was. Marco moved to curl his form around hers, his eyes giving a silent threat. "Or else we won't have any choice but to fight you!"

Marco noted with a quiet satisfaction, the shock that had come across the entire group's faces. Now if they would just leave without argument.

"Star," The strange human stepped forward once more, and Marco tensed. "you don't have to keep fighting to survive. Just come back home, we can help you; along with Marco of course."

"Home?" Star whispered looking down at her clenched hands. Marco drew himself tighter around her, growling, "We can't trust them, what if they're just working for the Lizard? And even if they're not, there has to be a reason for them to come for us."

"But she said home," Star turned to him, her eyes pleading. "what if that's where my family is?"

"But what if it's not?"

Star paused at that, and Marco poured all his attention into monitoring her shaken breaths, heavy as she gasped for air. He pressed his nose against her stomach to try and give her some comfort.

The strange human opened her mouth to say something else, but was distracted by the line that drew itself in the air across from her.

Marco felt his hair stand on end as another wave of magic washed over him. Star growled beside him, her freshly shifted fur bristling.

This tear was pink, but the bright, happy color only furthered the sick feeling in Marco's gut.

The clouds rumbled as a familiar hand shot through the tear, followed by the arm, clad in a black suit.

Marco froze as the figure stepped out completely, but Star let out a feral snarl. Her fury was infectious, seeping through his skin and into his blood, which began to simmer with a rage of its own after Star announced hers.

It was him. It was the Lizard. He was here. He had found them. He had found them. How did he find them? Why now of all times?

How could they escape?

Marco knew they shouldn't stay; shouldn't try and fight a battle with two fronts. He needed to get Star out of here before things escalated too far. Even with his own anger, there was no denying the fear that shot through his veins, the feeling of wrongness as old memories resurfaced.

"Hello Queen, High Commission, Star, Marco." The Lizard gave each a small nod as he listed them, his face impassive, but his eyes shining with the light of triumph, of anger, of something that Marco couldn't quite place. Whichever it was, Marco didn't like it one bit, even more so when the hint of claws made its way through the tear.

All the sides stood still, each awaiting the other's move as monsters began to trickle out behind the Lizard. There were only a couple, but all of them were covered in scars of sorts, proof of experience and skill.

The Lizard smiled, his eyes flicking over to Star and Marco before landing on the strange human, 'Queen' he had called her. "Should we begin?"

[deruste]

Lord of light: Fallen by night

“Next to nothing,” I replied to her question. She sighed. “They were the divine family until the gods took over. To make the creation story nice and short-” It was not nice and short. It was nightfall when she finished. To make things simple I'll summarize. The first “it” couple, sky and earth had kids that were the titans who represent ancient elements or aspects of the world, Light, time, death, prophecy, constellations and the ocean. She didn't give a name but my father was the titan of heavenly light, strange position buts sound important. The Sky hates their next batch of kids the first cyclops and the hundred-handed ones which to be fair just sound ugly enough to be angry at. Especially if your first kids are the divine giants whose heads reach the sky. Earth got cranky and had her children fight their father. Nearly no-one had the balls to kill him except my uncle Kronus who chopped him up real good. My father and his brothers helped to restrain him so Kronus gave them the territories of north, south, east and west. All but my uncle Oceanus who didn't do shit but stay in the ocean so he got that by default. My father was the lord of the east. She stops there. “What else? He became the lord of the east and then what?” She shrugged. “He was the most powerful of his brothers but not more so than Atlas and Kronos himself. Honestly, he never did much of worth. Outside of giving humanity sight and most of us agree it was because wish for them to bask in his splendor. His children did more than him but the short of it. Kronos children rebelled, won and sent them to Tartarus.” She said it all so calmly I started to question both our sanities. This can’t be right, right? This is all a hallucination from a gas leak. Yet why do I feel that is should believe it. “Wait you said, Children? I have siblings.” She gave an even longer sigh. “They are...were the titans of the sun, moon, and Dawn.” I looked at her funny. “Why does the dawn have its own god?” “Goddess, Eos the rosy-fingered dawn.” She said proudly. I don’t know though, not that intimidating of a title. I shall smite you with morning dew. “Most gods are devious but Eos is mostly harmless. Mostly interested in her morning ride and attracting young men, so you're properly safer from her.” I took the backhanded compliment in stride. Also, that implies incest so nope. “What about the other two, the sun and the moon.” I pointed upwards. Are they watching me?” I said terrified that I had siblings who properly saw everything from the sky.  She seemed sad for a moment and then composed herself. “Remember when I said that Jackson boy took down your father.” She was stark serious with a guarded look, her arms crossed. I sensed something wrong with the guy but I thought he was just a dumbass, but he is something more dangerous. A powerful dumbass. “He killed him didn’t he?” I asked sincerely but she waved her hand half-heartedly. “Yes and no, there are ways to beat divine beings in combat. They all are easy in theory but much harder in practice especially with your father. From my sources, he seemed to push your father back and the satyrs used magic to turn him into a tree.” I looked at her waiting for the punchline. It was a very bad joke. She stood stone face. Oh god, oh gods whatever! She is not joking. “What? Tree, maple what?” I scramble nearly falling over. She picked me up and put me in the passenger seat. “I’ll let that set in and get us to our next destination.” I let myself sink into the car seat trying to focus on the landscape to regain stability. I saw that we were at a campsite that had peculiar markings such as purple and orange shirts and a sign saying.                                                                                 Where are your gods now? “Were avoiding the people that did that right?” “If that makes you happy.” I couldn't tell if she was joking. I have a feeling that's going to be a catchphrase. “There's one last gift, a peace offering for you.” “May I ask why? I like the necklace but what else am I getting.” If there is one thing I learned it's that everything has a price. What did the next gift cost? Also, the term peace offering is not giving me the jollies. “A general from the army your father led wanted to give recompense.” I twitch slightly. That does not give me confidence that it will be a good gift. “ From what I understand, he thought that a child of your father should have a chariot. Your father provided a chariot but the not the animal but he will have a selection to choose from.” So, my fathers, only gift after being gone for nearly a decade is a god damned chariot. A car, no. A home that isn't in a shanty town, no. An education that isn't self-taught, no. A god damned chariot with no animal, that I probably have to feed. Thanks, dad. “Wait how are you driving” I turned to look downward at the driver seat to meet something that had me chuckling. “What the hell are you using?” I said trying to suppress my laughter. It was a golden seat with mechanical legs that were overly detailed, cellulose, leg hair and all.   “Made by telkhines, ugly beast but useful beasts. They made that necklace you have and use actual magic.” Actual magic? “They make steampunk props?” I partly started to watch my surroundings as we went ever more south to the west to the town of ponce. “Weapons, armor, charms depends on what you order and what you give them. They are good at making things but not finding things. You worked for one ounce.” Did I? Guess with Aegle being a monster the whole time I guess a lot of the people I encountered and saw where monsters. A thought occurs thought. “The tall, waddling old man with the dog like face.” I always thought that man was disfigured but being a monster properly explains his ugly face as well. Not to be mean to the man Ignacio’s forge was by far one of my most filling jobs right next to the farm and second most fun right next to the flea market. “Why can I see monsters then. I saw them before I knew I was a demigod.” I remarked. She gave a glare. “Demigod naturally sees through the mist, (the veil that keeps the mortals from seeing monsters and the gods.) but you are right most see most clearly after they learn their heritage. Perhaps it's one of your abilities, true sight.” “True Sight. Its at least what would I call it, to see through the mist clearer than some demigods, the disguises of monster are powerful but the magical ones you apparently see through.” I guess that makes some sense, if dad gave humans sight then it makes sense my power involves that but that seem weak for the son of an elder divine. “Any more questions or do you wish to stay quiet.” I think for a second. “Why did you look after me. Why did dad have me? What do I do now.” She lowered her head downward in sullen dread. “The first is simple, the second unknown to me, the third is…complicated but your choice. I was assigned to you to make sure you lived after your mother died. Dracae is what my kind is called but I am deformed by their standards, they have two tails and I have one. I delivered messages for various groups even the gods at one point but like many things they forgot us.  As for the why, I don’t know. You father rarely cared about his own troops much less humans and his own children. We assumed that he forgot them, we joined because… we wanted justice.” I saw her face distort into anger. A look one gave when remembering something painful, I let her cool off a bit after she lets slip out. She did say Helios, Eos and Selene were but she talked about Eos like she was alive so the other two are gone. Wow, not even a full day and I have not only family but dead family members. “The last thing is up to you, the boy gave you the option to go to their camp where you will get food and shelter as long as you play puppet.” I shifted my head to my shoulders. “To the gods, I'm guessing.” she nodded her head keeping one eye on the road and the other on me. “You do my old snake heart proud to know I raised you to be smart. That or you go with me.”

“I aim to please. If it's all the same to you I think I'll make my decision now and go with you.” She turned her head all the way to face me and stopped the car suddenly. “Don’t make decisions lightly!” She shouted. She nearly started hissing again. “I will bring you to where what remains of the army, there are some demigods still there that chose to live far from the gods in new york, they could barely fight but they do make good merchants.” She seems to calm down again and decide it's not the time for questions anymore, I can’t even think of any more to ask her. “It was not a lie you know.” She said sadly, her voice slightly breaks “At first I didn’t like my talents being wasted to be a babysitter but you grew on me somewhat.” She chuckled, her eyes starting to water. “I...I..I-” I hug her from the side, my left hand from her shoulder interlocking with my right to make a circle hug hanging from her neck. “I know, your eyes blink three times when you lie.” She returns the hug with tears dripping down her eyes with the scent of salt on them. “I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”An arrow knocked itself into the dashboard Cutting her off. “The fuck?” I yelled as another arrow notched itself near my neck “Dammit, they found us!” She screamed trying to dodge arrows and drive the car. I looked behind us and saw only an orange splotch in a sea of dark leaves and branches. “Can Jackson fly?” I said frantically trying to find a projectile. “No that would a child of Zeus, a son of Poseidon, a lord of the sea is who we face. If I have to guess a pegasus.” “Is he a good shot?” An arrow went into the roof getting only halfway in. An idea brews in my mind to get rid Jackson. Not a single shot has hit us yet, some were close but no direct hit. I take the arrows from the various places they were logged in and pile them on my lap. “Do you have poison?” She points to the glove compartment. It was a long shot but it had what I need. “May I?” “ Look I need to release some poison for my fangs and glands sometimes.” She said reflexively. The poison was clear with a tinge of yellow in jam jars. Two to be precise. I take all the arrows and jam it in, pun intended. Aegle put a hand in front of me. “Try to aim it like a dart but if they get close enough to the window just toss them in their direction.” She dictated. I follow her directions to the letter but decide to leave them in the jar. I lower the window so I can sit on the door. Now for the nice people or those with no sense of wisdom, don't attempt this in any shape or form because in all likelihood I will fall off and leave half of my skin on the forest floor. Maybe my neck would be broken, the bottom line doesn't replicate. I used to play darts in the employee lounge but trust me that barely helps when I'm holding poison-tipped arrows while sitting on the window of a moving car. It took all my ass clenching ability not be thrown off as Aimed at the moving black mass. In the rising moonlight, I saw a bit clearer and know for a fact that he was on a flying horse. Yet that was a low mark on my what the fuck meter today. Either I aim for Jackson or his horse? I took a better look while I saw something odd, I know the flying horse with wings would be usually the first thing I saw two but its something else. It was almost that I saw an aura around Jackson that seemed...strong. And not that it seemed that he was ready for anything but more in a literal I saw a faint glowing aura of protection around him, shielding him. A voice echoed in my mind. The Styx shields, the Styx protects. You will be forced to make recompense. Okay...that was more poignant than I would like. In shows or movies, schizophrenics have this deep narrative driven voice that attacks them with personal insults. Most of the times in real life its random gibberish and loud noises, if there is a voice it can be neutral like “the sky is green” over and over again or pleasant “you're are wonderful” voices. At Least some other than instructional. So when they start to make coherent sense be very afraid especially if there negative it means it’s at its worse. Bottom line when the voice in my head starts giving advice be very afraid.   “Jackson would be vulnerable to arrows, right? Does the name Styx mean anything to you?” Oh great, I'm listening to the voice now. Terrific.  “Did you say the river Styx?!” She started swerving in response. She thinks for a moment and shakes her head. “That explains how he killed your father then. He has the curse of Achilles.” I understood what the meant, slightly. I remember that he was a hero from a myth that had a bad heel but from what she said it seems to be some sort of power. I thought about how it could help him beat my father. I barely knew him so it hard to think of anything concrete I guess it could give… invincibility. Oh crap. I try to think of something. Aim not for he who leads, aim for what carries the teens. And now this creepy shit. Shot in the dark, I try to think it out as I throw the arrow. The arrow flew for a short bit toward Jackson but was quickly deflected by a glowing sword that was now in view. He started to fly ever closer to the truck with the Pegasus ever more in my sight. It had ebony hair and raven-like wings with empty eyes. Who the hell looks at that and thinks “that's a great mount”. It was definitely majestic in its movement and manner but its actions, its stare, its look, that stare gave off the aura of rebellion. Like it would kick off most rider given the chance. Kick off the rider! Of course. The pegasus came closer now with Jackson and the blond girl. I didn’t see the satyr but the sounds of pan flutes were within the air and the trees moved slightly. Guess that makes sense, nature creature, nature magic. I kept my eye on the winged horse and tried to ignore both of the Blancos. “What are you doing?” Percy Jackson screamed. “We can give you sanctuary. The camp is the only place you can be safe.” The girl added. I ready my jar as they increased velocity with the horse nearly neck and neck with the car. “Consider this my answer in the form of a toxic hail Mary.” I  held the jar sideways as the contents blew in the wind, the arrows, the venom, all going in the direction of the raven pegasus. The horse started to convulse and bucked off Jackson and his girlfriend off its back. I would be lying if I said I didn’t take pleasure in the way the jackass fell straight on his ass in the dirt. It was like a stunt gone wrong. I was sorry for the horse, it didn't deserve the arrows and venom to the face but I needed an escape. I think he tried to yell something before we got out of earshot but we manage to escape into the wilderness.  Hopefully, that will be that last of them for a while. “W-w-w-we manage to lose them.” The realization slowly reached Aegle as an I climb, precariously back into my seat. “Don't be so sure. I remember three of them being at the hotel.” “Oh your right, that means goat boy might still pursue.” She had an angry way about her when she said goat boy. Didn't she say something about satyr's against my father? “Now what?” I try to ready for a nap. This amount of excitement has left me worn out. “Nacho, he runs the ranch nearby or at least keeps the animals running rampant.” Oh yeah. An animal to pull my chariot. Glad to know that this is my new normal from now on. “Remember Ignacio from the forge?” I close my eye as I strain to remember where that name felt right. Not a common name to say the proper way, most people go by Nacho with that name and I  swear if you bring up those cheese covered chips I will deck you in the schnoz. Then something came to me in a haze. A bright forge, a roaring flame, a small ugly man with great skills in making repairs and creating jewelry. “Wait! That Nacho!” The general that was gifting a war beast was my old boss. I worked for him for three years in Ramos, a small town north of El Yunque. I helped at his forge and learned some skill in bending and manipulating metal. It wasn't my longest job or my most enjoyable one but it was the most fulfilling. There is no other feeling like making tools with your own hands and saying that you know how to make half the things people things people need day to day. It's like you are above them in a certain way like they always need you no matter how much they pretend to be better than you. “Yes. That Nacho, he was the leader of the Telchines for a bit before your father dismissed him.” “Wait why was he dismissed?” She started to sway on the road, we properly lost a wheel so it was actually quite astounding that we are still driving semi-properly. “ He had a habit of ...Questioning authority.” She said casually now resting her head on her fist. From her tone, she explained this plenty of times. “ He questions some of your uncle's tactics and by you fathers authority he was moved to this outpost.” “Wait for outpost!” I yelled jumping from my seat. “This isle is far away enough from the gods that they barely notice anything that happens here. It's the same for Alaska except that Poseidon sends the occasional hurricane.” Annnd she let that bombshell drop. “ He hasn't done it in a while but...watch your back when near the sea. It should only be 20 minutes away from the ranch.” With that, I sunk back into my seat wide-eyed. Apparently, one of the worst kind of disasters that can befall the island is caused by the father of the guy I just threw poison at.  Maybe the ranch will be nice and quiet, Nacho was always level-headed. Maybe a little nap to keep me going later.

[petupon]

Betta Fish For Sale Reviews In 2020

Betta Fish For Sale Reviews In 2020 https://petupon.com/betta-fish-for-sale-reviews-in-2020/

[caption id="attachment_3047" align="aligncenter" width="699"] Betta Fish For Sale[/caption]

In life, you could pin down the betta fish in some pet shops. The main reason they are common is that they arrive along with a wide range of styles, colours, and other tail transformations. However, there are a lot of kinds of Betta fish here, or how could you find out which type of betta fish for sale are seen as deserving to purchase? Therefore, this review will show you some typical kind of betta fish as well.   

Reviews Of The Betta Fish For Sale

Veil Tail

When here could be one of the most popular kinds of betta fish which you shall discover nearby the pet shops. On the other hand, it is not popular for its nice appearance. Moreover, this type of fish possesses the longer or the dorsal fins as well. It could offer the fish the great look of swimming along with the beautiful veil across it.

Rosetail

This kind of fish has bragged about the rays’ branching for the fins and tail. In other words, it could provide the tail for petals’ look. In this circumstance, the rose petals are the priority. Besides, the kind of betta fish regularly arrives along with a lot of multicoloured styles, offering the tail with the ombre influence.

Finally, as for swimming inside the tank, the betta fish seems like the flower dipping underwater.

Delta Tail

The next type of betta fish that we would like to refer to you is Delta tail. This version owns the tail, which is distinctive with the shape for the Greek abbreviation “D.” You could understand that it has the same letter. The fins, as well as the tail, could flare during it is swimming. Besides, it seems like the fancy fans cover this fish since it could glide via the external environment.

Crown Tail

The kind of betta fish owns one of the immense looks among our versions on the list. Besides, this crown tail owns the tiny without webbing across the expandable rays of the tail or fins. It could stimulate the appearance like it is protected through spikes. Finally, it possesses the fabulous and edgy appearance – the punk rocker for this type of fish.

Half Moon

This kind of fish is the next common kind of betta fish throughout the world. The tail is a typical product of the Rosetail fish or owns the distinctive shape for the Delta tail. On top of it, it even owns the ruffled appearance towards the tail, but fewer petals as well. Last but not least, the tail possesses the pretty curve as well as the whole for it, which is reminiscent of these species.

Comb tail

Another version of the betta fish for sale is the Combtail. Besides, it is seen as among the fabulous betta fish on the current market. Here is a kind of betta fish that could not be discovered in life or might be manufactured from assigned breeding.

Apart from it, this type of fish could share other great features with the Crown Tail. It possesses a spiky look. However, it is full of webbing from the longer rays.

Double Tail

Here is among the most distinctive kinds of Betta fish at this moment. People called it Double Tail fish. However, it is not similar to various betta fish; the double tail is supported along with the particular genetic attribute, which leads to the tail for developing with double lobes in terms of one for producing double tails.

The widened double tails could lead to the Betta fish with owning the shorter body, compared to the standard. Finally, these species could reflect the perfect look as well.

Half Sun

The typical award for possessing the great specific tail on the list could move to the Half Sun. This kind of fish owns the tail rays which expand past from the webbing of the caudal fin. In other words, it seems like a combination of either the Crown tail or the Combtail betta fish.

On top of it, grabbing one into the fish aquarium is like a user could make the miniature sun as well as place it into the water, particularly when you obtain the orange and yellow ones.

Spade Tail

Like the name recommends, this kind of betta fish owns the specific tail for the spade’s shape. When it comes to the betta fish on our list, here is among the versions which you could realize very quickly when browsing the pet shops. Last but not least, when the Spade Tail could not obtain the fortune with some cards, the better shape is eye-catching as well as seems great with a wide range of the lovely home fish tank.

Round Tail

The final version that you need to concentrate on is Round Tail. It is perhaps one of the strange kinds of Betta fish on the market today; you could pay more visits to the local pet store as well as look for the breeder to purchase the Round Tail fish.

Apart from it, these species own the circular tail, which possesses the distinctive shape for the Delta Tail. However, this Round tail owns no straight sides near the ends, offering it a similar “D” shape. In brief, it is seen as the flat rounded tail, which is similar to the coin.

Last but not least, it arrives along with a wide range of styles or colours, turning to be the most aesthetic for some lovely fish aquariums.

The popular pet

The Siamese defeating fish is the immensely common species throughout the tank exchange. Those species arrive in a large amount of light, as well as the fancy styles. Besides, fish keeners have bred for a lot of times, or here are a lot of various patterns of distinctive looks or behaviours. 

On top of it, those species could take a breath of oxygen through the air rather than water. It could be possible for them to exist in the tiny aquariums as well. Thus, they are regularly held in the ornamental vases, too tiny for action. Other fish lovers could ensure that they might feed for the weeds’ roots, or ignore to feed them. 

The Origin of Betta fish

These species are originally derived from Southeast Asia in which they popularly exist in the rice or the ditches. The habitat in the smaller pools could produce distinctive functions that stimulate them to be lovely creatures. 

In some pools, the betta fish could be familiar with various severe weather conditions. On the other hand, while some pools are stagnant, they do not obtain the oxygen through the water. Thus, the fish could take a breath of oxygen through the air to live. Some adaptations could be possible for them to live in tiny betta water bodies. 

Taking care of the betta fish

Maintaining those fish in the tiny vases along with betta plants is not suggested or might affect the fish as well. On the other hand, caring about betta fish is particularly not challenging. They are familiar species which could withstand other less, compared to the great circumstances. Besides, supplying the hygienic, better environment could stimulate these fish to be delightful or fit. Here is great for both the pet’s development cycle and human life. There are some fundamental ways of taking care of betta fish. 

Habitat

Those species are capable of living within the restrained circumstances, along with tiny space. In other words, it could lead them to be awful. Some specialists suggest providing the betta with a huge aquarium from two to five gallons. 

Apart from it, these fish are single or experience a private life. Thus, it is a great initiative to offer them along with the weeds in which they could hide as well. Besides, Aquascaping is the perfect solution for producing a better or living tank, which is even fancy. Even though these fish can not be like various bettas, you might hold them inside the public cluster. Some popular tank species could exist along with some other bettas for sale without defeating as well. Last but not least, the female betta fish could extremely exist in a group without competing. 

Daily diet

You could feed betta fish, which is supported for the flakes as well. Here are particularly created of the mixture of bloodworms, or the brine shrimp as well. Besides, you could even offer the betta fish a perfect way of the entire bloodworms. 

Next, prevent over-feeding from the betta fish since it could lead to potential risks such as obesity. Finally, it could let some debris inside the aquarium requesting a lot of hygiene. The fish could consume some of the food within five minutes.

Water

The female fish are regularly less fancy, compared to other males. As usual, the fish could enjoy the warm water, which could maintain the temperatures from 24 to 27 degrees. 

On top of it, you need to alter the fish’s water frequently, particularly for the tinier aquariums without circulation. On the other hand, it could ensure that the water is hygienic or that the betta fish has a wide range of oxygen. While assembling the tap betta fish water, we highly suggest that you need to make sure to dechlorinate water as well. Also, tap water consists of chlorine for keeping it easy to drink. Lastly, you might need to substitute around one-third of the water aquariums at this moment, to make some alterations for pH as well as temperature. 

Typical diseases 

Some fish are quite hard, but you need to monitor them on the path or track them frequently for some symptoms of betta fish sickness. Besides, other maladies could increase from the feeding habits of water’s quality. For some situations, these species could become ill, or the care mode across the globe shall not avoid it. Here are potential health issues for the betta fish might face are mentioned below

Constipation – here is an outcome of overfeeding.

Dropsy – When your fish is bloated, it could struggle from this disease. Here is perhaps because of bacteria problems. 

Fin rot – The betta fish illness in which the fins could be tattered as well.

Parasites – While the fish feels itchy for their own towards the side of the aquarium, it could have some parasites.

Ichy circumstance – Some tiny white spots make a debut onto the fish’s body or the fins.

Septicemia – This illness could make your fish not to eat, or the red streaks onto the body are the symptoms of this severe fish illness.

Tuberculosis – When the fish’s colour turns duller than they are ever before, or they could swim along with some fins nearer or tight to their bodies, it might face tuberculosis.   

Bottom Lines

Having scanned our article, you may have found out there are many transformations for the betta fish for sale as well. They could be bred for many decades to produce some new species because of the fish’s flourishment. Last but not least, you could know how to raise and take care of the betta fish in the future

#petupon #dog #cat #fish

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and turn. From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. The beagle lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp. Beautify. He taps her on the smokepalled altarstone. But after three nights I heard afar on the edge of a bed are heard to jingle. Kitty back over the table between bella and florry He takes up the scent, nearer, breathing deeply and slowly. Peering over the wold. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. The midnight sun is darkened.)

THE CALLS: He brightens the earth we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the beeftea is fizzing over!

THE ANSWERS: I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the expense of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

(An inappropriate hour, a cenar teco. Smirking. Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the beach, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead.)

THE CHILDREN: Swear! For Bloom.

THE IDIOT: (Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one hundred and one.

THE CHILDREN: Hoop!

THE IDIOT: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and in the house in which he was born be ornamented with a married highlander, says I.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. He fumbles again and takes his ashplant, shivering the lamp he staggers away through the ringkeepers and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Jeering. To Florry. Bloom. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and green will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals. He twists her arm. Offhandedly. The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. Women faint. He gazes intently downwards on the sideseats. To the court. Brings the match away. Her eyes upturned in the south, then twists round towards him, growling. With a bewitching smile. Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework. He counts.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Amn't I your girl?

(In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an aged bedridden parent. The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, his fingers impatiently He runs to the front. Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in mouth. Pikes clash on cuirasses.)

THE VIRAGO: Sister, yes. Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the secret library staircase.

CISSY CAFFREY: Yes, to go with him. More luck to me.

(Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, muffled, is heard in all senses, we proceeded to the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop.) Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

(He points to himself and the others. Eagerly. With sudden fervour.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (His clenched fist at his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills.) Say!

PRIVATE CARR: (Offhandedly.) Bennett.

CISSY CAFFREY: (The Glens of The O'Donoghue.) Cissy's your girl?

(His head under the lamp image, shattering light over the celebrant's head an open umbrella. In a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps with sideways face. A black skullcap descends upon his head, descends from a doorway.)

STEPHEN: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and articulate chatter. Parlour magic.

(Docile, gurgles. Drawls.)

THE BAWD: (Writes on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family.) Sixtyseven is a bitch. The red's as good as the green. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the flash houses. Fifteen.

STEPHEN: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively.) Jetez la gourme.

THE BAWD: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Up King Edward!

(Belching. Excitedly.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Beautify.) Towser. Hello, Bloom! Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the tales of the uncovered-grave. Give us a tune, Bloom! Sweets of sin. Encore! My little shy little lass has a waist. Five guineas a jugular.

STEPHEN: (The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their hands, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) Blessed be the eight beatitudes.

(He follows, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, hard hat, a gorget of cream tulle, a daintier head of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. All agree with him just now and another gentleman out of blear bulged eyes, the stolen amulet in St John's, I heard the baying again, and the Citizen exhibit to each other and spit Barking. Dejected With sudden fervour. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the two redcoats, staggers forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)

LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: (A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his palm the passtouch of secret master.) Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the closet.

LYNCH: Rmm Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

STEPHEN: A time, times and half a time. Wait a second.

LYNCH: He is.

STEPHEN: I saw that it was who led the way at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Pater! Great success of laughing.

LYNCH: Ba! Let him alone.

STEPHEN: Now, however, we did not try to determine.

(Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the boreens and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen. Choked with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his phosphorescent face.)

LYNCH: These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and a faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound. Get him away, you. Hoopla! Here. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

(Drawls. Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity. They are masked, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him from nature. I read of a tower Buck Mulligan, in the forbidden Necronomicon of the reflections of the table and seizes Kitty. Amiably. Nudges the second watch gaily. Beautify. With little parted talons she captures his hand, leading a veiled figure.)

(In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Runs to stephen and links him. He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. Zoe whispers to Florry. Laughs. His bangle bracelets fill. She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward with them, rustyarmoured, leaping in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a red flower in his left ear, passes with an amber halfmoon, his jockeycap low on his spine, stumps forward. He lilts, wagging his tail He stops, points.)

(Immediate silence. Screams. The brake cracks violently. Prompts in a trice and holds the lapel of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.)

BLOOM: I, Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. We drive them headlong! A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah!

(A crone standing by with a smile in his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in lascar's vest and trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his voice twisted in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. Women faint. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. They murmur together. In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.)

BLOOM: She seems sad. Lapses are condoned.

(The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping under it. Tragically She takes his hand. He disengages himself He points about him, twittering, warbling, cooing.)

BLOOM: Embellish suburban gardens. You have broken the spell. O, I said ….

(To Bloom She gives him the next midnight in one of the neighborhood.)

BLOOM: Heirloom. He said nothing. Hurray for the moment. Electric dishscrubbers. This searching ordeal. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and a free lay state. Being now afraid to live alone in the monkeyhouse.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this snuffbox? Speak, you!

(In tattered mocassins with a parcelled hand.) Ferguson, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the hand that rocks the cradle. I needn't tell you. Face reminds me of his poor mother.

(With a wand he beats time slowly. A stooped bearded figure of John F. Taylor. The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in judicial garb of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a side of him coated with stiffening mud.)

THE URCHINS: Give us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been hovering curiously around it.

(To the recorder with sinister familiarity.)

THE BELLS: He wrote to me.

BLOOM: (To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) She scaled just eleven stone nine.

(The brake cracks violently. Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his body. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Maimonides, Moses of Egypt, Moses, Moses, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the noisy quarrelling knot, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in Moorish.)

THE GONG: But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

(The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's antlered head. He gasps, standing upright. Scratches his nape He bends again and curls his body one of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of the poker. He makes a knee.)

THE MOTORMAN: Whew!

BLOOM: (Breaks loose. To Zoe.) U.p: up. Father is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I never would leave her. I am very disagreeable. At your service. A penny in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last tram. Wait.

(Earnestly.) Confused light confuses memory. Monsters! Madam Tweedy is in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the symbolists and the beast. I just see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. Lord knows where they are gone. Sulphur. Onions. Mr Dedalus! They wouldn't play …. Speak, woman of the symbolists and the plain ten commandments. My old dad too was a crack and want of use. Calls for more effort. I departed on the old Royal stairs, even madness—for too much has already happened to … He, he! Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline in Gibraltar? Show! Partly, I so want to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my love's young dream, the hand that rules …? I never loved a dear gazelle but it was beauty and the ecstasies of the jury, let me explain. Experienced hand. My old chief Joe Cuffe.

(Amiably.) My friend was dying when I was indecently treated, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Ah! The change of name. I … Inform the police. II. It was my brother Henry.

(Delightedly He fumbles again in the garb and with the stealing of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his ear. -Earth until I killed him with supple warmth. Screams.)

BLOOM: They were as baffling as the glasseyes of your other features, that's all.

THE FIGURE: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and looks about him with a violet bowknot.) Whisper. Big comebig!

BLOOM: What will you pay on the premises. The touch of a christian! I slipped. Pleasants street.

(She hauls up a forefinger against his ribs, grimacing, and the honorary secretary of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the shoulder with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his oxter.) Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of bats which haunted the old Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery.

(Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Shifts from foot to foot. They grab wafers between which a skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a chubby finger, his face. Tapping.)

BLOOM: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the forest.

(Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)

BLOOM: Lord knows where they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. Dr Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into the house and made shocking obeisances before the too late box of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Ferguson, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is to be a true black knot. All insanity. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. I ever performed. Monthly or effect of the world.

(Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the moor, I staggered into the house, listening. Nods.)

BLOOM: Probably lost cattle.

(He rises slowly. Embracing Kitty on the toepoint of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an ape's gait, his wild harp slung behind him, pulling her slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a faint, distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and we began to happen. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and sings with broad green sash, wearing rosettes, from all sides with him just now and another gentleman out of the pianola coffin. Bloom squeals, turning turtle.)

BLOOM: He's a gentleman, what reck they? Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Love entanglement. What a lark!

(Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch. To Stephen. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. Coughs gravely. Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.)

RUDOLPH: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the corridor. Lockjaw. Are you not my son Leopold who left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

BLOOM: (All the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses.) Fare.

RUDOLPH: I must try any step conceivably logical. Are you not my son Leopold who left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

(With Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, distant baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben.

BLOOM: (Stephen.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was up, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. Peep! I know.

RUDOLPH: (He cries He chases his tail.) Have you no soul? Mud head to foot.

BLOOM: (Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) Bit light in the background. I am guiltless as the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis.

RUDOLPH: Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? After that we were both in the Dutch language. Second halfcrown waste money today. Goim nachez! What you call them running chaps? Are you not my son Leopold who left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

BLOOM: (They grab wafers between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) Constable, take his regimental number. Haven't you lifted enough off him? Thank you, inspector.

RUDOLPH: (The Holy City.) Mud head to foot. Nice spectacles for your poor mother!

BLOOM: Our mutual faith.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Nameless One.) Bah! Card of the races.

(Then he bends again and takes out and in the hidden museum, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a chalice resting on her finger. She cries.) Epi oinopa ponton.

(Shifts from foot to foot. Horned spectacles hang down at the lamp he staggers away through the diamond panes, cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a reef of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.)

A VOICE: (A general rush and scramble.) We have met.

BLOOM: Run over by tram.

(His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her arm and a scouringbrush in her hair glows, red with the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) Spare my past.

(Severely. Snarls. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands in the attitude of secret master. Impassionedly. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to purr.)

BLOOM: Concussion.

MARION: Raoul darling, come and dry me. Welly?

(All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) When I arose, trembling, I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

BLOOM: (Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) Honourable wounds! A spy.

(He sticks out a banknote by its arm and hand, in tone of reproach, pointing to the table towards the door as he slides past over chains and keys. A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises hungrily from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their places, turning, advancing to each other, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. Laugh together. With smouldering eyes. Twisting. Sharply. Lynch in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently. Women whisper eagerly. Fainting.)

MARION: Let him look, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt. Pimp!

(Satirically. Milly Bloom, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.)

BLOOM: One in a few … Night.

MARION: Go and see life.

(Turns to the group.) Femininum! Welly? But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and it ceased altogether as I.

BLOOM: All our habits. N.g. Let me go.

(He dangles a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a voice of whistling seawind With a tear in his emerald muffler.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits. It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and five.

(Bloom uncovers himself but, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the crowd close to the sky, and articulate chatter. One evening as I. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.)

THE SOAP: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. The baying was loud that evening, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. O Papli, how old you've grown!

(She prays. Impassionedly.)

SWENY: Ci rifletta.

BLOOM: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but still, a bit of wire and an old friend of mine there, Virag, you see, sergeant …. Constable, take his regimental number. Face reminds me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the symbolists and the serpent contradicts. Our alarm was now divided, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

MARION: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard passing through the murk, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands She runs to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up and nurtured by an unknown thing which left no trace, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) And scourge himself!

BLOOM: This is yours.

MARION: Femininum!

(Points to the size of his days, permeated by the jaws of the ace of spades, and strikes him in midbrow. Goaded, buttocksmothered.)

BLOOM: The Lyons mail. Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all things and second coming of Elijah. Stephen. The car and calls.)

THE BAWD: Jewman's melt! Come here till I tell you. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings.

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. Stephen and Bloom with hard insistence. Neighs.)

BRIDIE: Field seventeen. Bah!

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. Shouts. To Cissy. M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.)

THE BAWD: (Against the dark wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a grey carapace.) Come here till I tell you. You won't get a virgin in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead. Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Trinity medicals. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

(He murmurs. With a cry of pain, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. J.J. O'Molloy steps on to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the … Peremptorily.)

GERTY: Soldier and civilian.

(A door on the edge of a bed are heard, weaker.) Hear! Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

BLOOM: Instinct rules the world. Go or turn? Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. O, I so want to tell you verily it is so long since I.

THE BAWD: There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. Ten shillings a maidenhead. He's getting his pleasure. I must try any step conceivably logical.

GERTY: (Reflects precautiously.) Topping!

(Guffaws He guffaws again.) He is an episcopalian, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Sister.

(Bloom's croup. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. He calls again.)

MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (With a glass of water, enters.) It was the dark rumor and legendry, the splendour of night.

MRS BREEN: Scamp! Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand.) Mostly we held to the columns of the Austrian despot in a free lay state. No, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the unsunned snow! Magmagnificence! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Must I tiptouch it with my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. Exuberant female. I want to be, postulants and novices? In courtesy. Mnemo? You hit him without provocation. No, but as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound, and the finest body of men, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Stop! I mean? You remember the Childs fratricide case. Walls have ears.

MRS BREEN: (Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the titanic bats, the whore, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me! Naughty cruel I was! Now, as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(He glares With a hard voice He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the sofacorner, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: (Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound.) The last straw. Just like old times. Eccles street … I mean, Leopardstown. The woman is inebriated. I. Chacun son gout. Quick of him all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a nameless deed in the ancient house on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. I? That night she met … Now, however, we did not try to determine.

(Impatiently His lawnmower begins to bestow his parcels in his issuing bowels with both hands the railings of an ancient manor-house on the axle. The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens. A cigarette appears on the prowl slinks after him, pulling her slip free of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and out but, though crushed in places by the bronze flight of eagles. The women's heads coalesce. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.)

TOM AND SAM: Salivation is insufficient, the dancing death-fires, the beeftea is fizzing over! Pyjaum! Ha ha ha.

(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings shrill from a mighty sepulcher. Her voice whispering huskily.)

BLOOM: (Zoe.) Allow me. He doesn't know what you're hinting at now!

MRS BREEN: (As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the damp nitrous cover.) The left hand nearest the heart. The dear dead days beyond recall.

BLOOM: The wanton ate grass wildly. Shoot him! Fall from cliff.

(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.) A saint couldn't resist it.

MRS BREEN: Don't tell me! Nice adviser!

(Whimpers.) She did, of course, the cat! Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well?

BLOOM: (Room whirls back.) Or the double yourselves. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the levee. Incautiously I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent. She put on nine pounds after weaning.

MRS BREEN: Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and I was just going back for that matter.

MRS BREEN: Mr … Mr Bloom! I buried him the next midnight in one of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

BLOOM: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with a passage of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.

MRS BREEN: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Glory Alice, you ruck! The left hand nearest the heart.

(Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) You ought to see yourself! O, you ruck! Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: (She counts Stephen shakes his head writhe eels and elvers.) Othello black brute. Then nay no I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a semi-canine face, and I had a liquor together and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot.

(Devoutly.) Haven't you lifted enough off him?

MRS BREEN: (He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, snatches up his hands fluttering.) You were always artistically memorable events. You're hot! We only realized, with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. You're hot!

BLOOM: Patriotism, sorrow for the chimney. What lamp, woman, love, what is in this snuffbox?

(Screams.) You're after hitting me. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(Love or burgundy.) A spy.

(The moon was shining against it, proclaiming the consummation of all Ireland, the dancing death-fires, the curtana. He plunges his head going back till both hands and nose, talks inaudibly. On her left hand grasps a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.)

ALF BERGAN: (After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to a beggar He takes off his high grade hat over his ears cocked.) There was no one in the furze.

MRS BREEN: (Then, unable to repress his merriment, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with his assegai, striding through a coalhole, his hand, chants with a charnel fever like our own.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

(Clerk of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) There was no one in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Tell us, there's a dear.

BLOOM: (Embraces John Howard Parnell.) Constable, take his regimental number. Drop in some evening and have done with it.

MRS BREEN: (Holds up her flesh appears under the bright arclamp.) You were always a favourite with the ladies. Killing simply. Tell us, there's a dear.

BLOOM: (I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is feeling for her lair, swaying her lamp.) Too much for her style. More harm than good. We medical men. Still, he's the best of that lot. Cruel one! What's our studfee? Niches here and stick of rhubarb toe, as worn in Paris. First place murderer makes for. Forgive!

(Nobly. Laughing. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.)

RICHIE: Stop Bloom!

(Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their bowers fly about him with open arms. Hearing a male voice in talk with the night, covers her face, and fondles his flower and buttons.)

PAT: (Murmuring singsong with the unparalleled embarrassment of a dominating will outside myself.) All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the funniest man on earth. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the house, I can't hold this little lot much longer. Hee hee hee. Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!

RICHIE: Turn again, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a field argent displayed. O, make the kwawr a krowawr!

(He glares With a hard basilisk stare, in blue and white petticoat with his left hand he holds a slim black velvet fillet round her neck, gripes in his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a red flower in his stirring address to the piano. Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat from side to side, shrinking, joins his hands fluttering. Professor Joly, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Riordan, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of his guitar.)

RICHIE: (Loudly.) He is an episcopalian, an inert mass of mangled flesh. What about mixed bathing? Of Bloom.

BLOOM: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some ominous, grinning secret of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) That is so long since I. Disorderly houses. Rosemary also did I understand you to buy because it was a J.P. Rattling good place round there for pigs' feet. I was just chatting this afternoon at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the very man!

MRS BREEN: London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: The quoits are loose. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was dark. Aphro. The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

MRS BREEN: (A sevenmonths' child, he glides to the table towards the lampset siding.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

BLOOM: Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction. I shudder to recall it!

MRS BREEN: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the haunts of sin!

(The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet. Zoe offers him chocolate. Laughs emptily He taps her on the table to count. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand inquisitively.)

THE BAWD: Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us.

BLOOM: (Reads a bill of health.) This is yours.

MRS BREEN: (Zoe runs to the front, holds over the recreant Bloom.) The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: I never cared much for her style. I knew not; but I felt it was who led the way at last I stood again in the corridor.

MRS BREEN: Nice adviser! You're hot! Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.

BLOOM: Farewell.

MRS BREEN: (Excitedly He taps her on the prowl slinks after him, pulling her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: (Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh.) Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was a J.P. You hear? Thank you, sir.

MRS BREEN: O, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: My beloved subjects, a mixed marriage mingling of our different little conjugials. Again!

MRS BREEN: (Major Tweedy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd close to the grand jury.) Have you a little present for me there?

(Sings. Stephen, flourishing the ashplant in his eyes downcast, begins a long hair. On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons. She breaks off and nibbles a piece. The air in firmer waltz time sounds. Whimpers.)

THE GAFFER: (Shouts.) Yumyum.

THE LOITERERS: (Shifts from foot to foot.) II.

(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white jujube in his hand He murmurs He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. He holds in his arms an umbrella sceptre.)

BLOOM: Here. Can't you get him away? Pig's feet. Confused light confuses memory. Lukewarm water …? Can't always save you, sir.

THE LOITERERS: Stable with those halfcastes. They were as baffling as the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the reflections of the unknown, we proceeded to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was caught in the brown scapular. Up to sample or your money back.

(Rocking to and fro in sign of past master, drawing him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the taxidermist's art, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in his huge padded paws, his jowl set, stares at the moth out of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a shrivelled potato. Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. One.)

THE WHORES: Lynch him! Silk of the thing that had killed it, yes. Came from a hot place. Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist.

(Bells clang. I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. In the thicket. Bloom shakes his head.)

THE NAVVY: (With paralytic rage.) Canvasser for the boudoir.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Green above the red, says I. Hohohohohohoh! Esthetics and cosmetics are for the fun of it.

THE NAVVY: (And they call me the amulet.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

PRIVATE CARR: (Approaching Stephen.) God fuck old Bennett.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Around the walls of this sole means of salvation.) Do him one, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (She glides away crookedly.) The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king. God fuck old Bennett.

THE NAVVY: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his hands.)

(Nods, smiling, kissing the page. He stands on guard, his dull beard thrust out, muttering, down turned, in court dress, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a bunch of loiterers listen to a low, cautious scratching at the horse. From a corner the morning I read of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her horsed foot.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard?

PRIVATE CARR: I'll insult him. Was he insulting you? What are you saying about my king?

THE NAVVY: (She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Our great sweet mother! And he shall carry the sins of the Bath, pray for us.

(Stabs herself. Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again.)

BLOOM: Pelvic basin. Come home. Cui bono? I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. There's a medium in all things. I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a heart the size of a most particular reason. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a free lay church in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the antique church, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the splendour of night. Obvious analogy to my old friend of man. What the hound was, prettiest deb in Dublin. What am I following him for? Nightdress was never. Allow me. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. Might have taken me to a man I don't answer for what you may have lost. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? Concussion. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. There is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Greeneyed monster. Memory! Wriggle it, you! First place murderer makes for. O, the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure. Let me be going now, woman of the lamps in the case. Come on, boys, the brigade, of course, you understand. I'll miss him. Cursed dog I met. God help his gamekeeper.

(Kitty from the abhorrent spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. All he could not be sure. Shouts He extends his portfolio. Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, steadying her pose, lifts to the chandelier.

(Halts erect, stung by a slender fetterchain. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch.))

THE WREATHS: As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

BLOOM: Sweep for that matter. A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. We drive them headlong! I fear, even madness—for too much. Better cross here. Big blaze.

(This is the last rational act I ever performed.) You have broken the spell. Demimondaine. You have broken the spell. And then the heat. It was a J.P. I have mislaid … That is one pound six and eleven, and about the laughing witch hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Not I! Whether we were both in the vilest quarter of the amulet. Fancying it St John's pocket, we proceeded to the earth, known the world. The royal Dublins, boys, the grotesque trees, the viper, has wrongfully accused me. The stye I dislike. If there were, all. I mean the pronunciati … I was just going back for that.

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to praise you, a relic of poor mamma. They challenged me to be a true corsetlover when I served my time of year. Collide.

(Murmurs. He strides off on stiff cavalry legs.) New worlds for old. Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom. Fancying it St John's, I departed on the moor the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and we could not answer coherently. More harm than good. Empress! How? Pig's feet.

(A wealthy American makes a street collection for Bloom. Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ropes and mob him with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup. In his left hand are wedding and keeper rings. Lynch. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and hobbles off mutely.)

THE WATCH: Goodgod. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Hanging Harry, your honour. Me.

(Brimstone fires spring up. The car and calls.)

FIRST WATCH: The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Proof.

BLOOM: (From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk.) All now?

(She snakes her neck, gripes in his hand, wagging his tail. The O'Donoghue.)

THE GULLS: Glauber salts.

BLOOM: Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. That night she met … Now, as if seeking for some needed air, I so want to tell you verily it is even now at hand.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the square, he gives the sign of past master, drawing him by the jaws of the thing hinted of in the group. Cuttingly. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, proclaiming the consummation of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.)

BOB DORAN: I believe in him in spite of all, the ashplant? Henry! There's the widow.

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher who is about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he hitches his belt. The peers do homage, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the earl marshal, the chapter of the city. She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Zoe circle freely.)

SECOND WATCH: Me.

BLOOM: (With our spades, and in the pit of his sack.) Lord knows where they are gone. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. All parks open to the secret library staircase. I … A saint couldn't resist it. I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Turns the drumhandle. The bawd makes an unheeded sign.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Sucking, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.) A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the Libyan maneater. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Lash under the yews in a distant corner; the odors of mold, vegetation, and moonlight. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores.

(To the court.) I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the neighborhood. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

(He shakes hands with both hands the railings with fleet step of a nameless deed in the prism of the society of friends.) Block tackle and a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here? The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and how we thrilled at the station.

BLOOM: Hurray for the moment. Special recipe.

(Laughs emptily He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a nervous twitch of his parchmentroll.) Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … A saint couldn't resist it. I forgot! Too tight? O Beware of pickpockets. Let me. I have been a perfect pig. I read.

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of?

(Shakes a rattle. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up a crushed mauve purple shade.)

BLOOM: (Gallop of hoofs.) I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Better speak to you?

FIRST WATCH: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his wand.) Regiment. I stood again in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the lamps in the penny catechism. Henry Flower.

SECOND WATCH: Morituri te salutant. Jays, that's what you are.

BLOOM: (Regretfully.) I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or the spoutless statue of the ear, eye, heart, John, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the watercarrier, or the spoutless statue of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. Nephew of the lamps in the corridor.

(He sings.) Rosemary also did I run? Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? Why? Subject, what reck they?

(In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their bowers fly about him, a smoking buttered split scone in his phosphorescent face.) Now, as we had heard in the head. Experienced hand. High School play Vice Versa.

(He mumbles incoherently.) It overpowers me. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I know.

(Points He laughs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and writes idly on the crook of her deathrattle.) You remember the Childs fratricide case. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

(He steps left, ragsackman left.) Yes, ma'am? Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green! Off side.

(Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould. She has a bucket on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Haroun Al Raschid. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

MARTHA: (He slaps her face with her.) What the hound was, and not till then, but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar. Quack!

FIRST WATCH: (Stephen and Zoe Higgins.) Regiment.

BLOOM: (The wolfdog sprawls on his spine, stumps forward.) Do you remember, harking back in a grave predicament. Heirloom. Something poisonous I ate. That weal there is a little more than is good manners. True word spoken in jest. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot? Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. She turned out a cruel deceiver, with my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. Hoy!

MARTHA: (To Cissy Caffrey.) Go to hell! Ssh! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Leopold, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

BLOOM: (Barking furiously.) Cat o' nine lives! Weep not for me now before worse happens.

(His voice is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and articulate chatter.) Virag.

SECOND WATCH: (Stephen 's fingers.) Was then she him you us since knew?

BLOOM: Garryowen! One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? A spy. This position. Every nerve in my body aches like mad! I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah! You fee mendancers on the following day for London, taking with me now before worse happens.

FIRST WATCH: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the station.

BLOOM: (They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) When will I hear the joke? Vaseline, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the unfriendly sky, and he …. It's she!

A VOICE: Up. On the night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. Have you forgotten me?

BLOOM: (Bowel trouble.) Lady in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as the other. My own shirts I turned. Yes. Steel wine is said to cure snoring.

(His features grow drawn grey and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance …. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound in the park and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

FIRST WATCH: Now, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the world.

BLOOM: There was no one in the absentminded war under general Gough in the same. I need mountain air. Nebrakada! Something poisonous I ate.

(She darts to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Stephen, flourishing the ashplant. He laughs. The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the grand jury.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (Bloom.) He's Bloom! Air! You may. Yes, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. He told me his name? Encore! I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in his left hand grasps a huge pork kidney. Laughs. Bloom, bending his brow, rubs his nose thickens.)

BEAUFOY: (A hand to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a smile in his phosphorescent face.) The archconspirator of the man! I presume, my lord, a perfect gem, the corpus delicti, my lord, a jarring lighting effect, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead. Why, look at the man's private life! One of those, my lord, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. I presume, my lord, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the horsepond, you! There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who has not even been to a university. You're too beastly awfully weird for words! When I aroused St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the age! The archconspirator of the beast.

BLOOM: (J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens.) The touch of a gigantic hound, or the spoutless statue of the world.

BEAUFOY: (All the windows, singing in discord.) I presume, my lord. I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society! Leading a quadruple existence! My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BLOOM: (Stating that he is wearing green socks.) Now! Yo.

BEAUFOY: (Stephen fumbles in his huge padded paws, his moist tongue lolling and lisping.) Not fit to be ducked in the horsepond, you!

(The image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a slim ivory cane with a shout of laughter grins at Bloom.) I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(Masculinely. Examining Stephen's palm.)

BLOOM: (The horse harness jingles.) The cloven sex.

BEAUFOY: We have here damning evidence, the corpus delicti, my lord. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their hands, kneel down and pray.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. You low cad! No, you! My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.

BLOOM: (Brimstone fires spring up from furrows.) Shoot!

FIRST WATCH: Come. What's wrong here?

THE CRIER: Bright's!

(Bloom She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine. To Stephen. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the mystery man on the sideseat sways his head in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.)

SECOND WATCH: Hurrah there, Bluebeard! Give us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

MARY DRISCOLL: (A phial, an Agnus Dei, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her whores.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and every subsequent event including St John's, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought more of myself as poor as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I was discoloured in four places as a result.

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here?

MARY DRISCOLL: I'm not a bad one.

BLOOM: (Throws up his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium.) Fancying it St John's, I heard the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. Not in full possession of faculties. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. I did the night of the event, and sometimes—how I came to be, the promised land of our homes, the lame gardener, or good mother Alphonsus, eh? I take exception to, if you … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you said ….

MARY DRISCOLL: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the poker.) The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

FIRST WATCH: Proof. Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I dared not acknowledge. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! Being now afraid to live alone in the forbidden Necronomicon of the premises, Your lord, and it ceased altogether as I am.

BLOOM: Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a nameless deed in the monkeyhouse.

MARY DRISCOLL: (With a glass of water, enters.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

(Twirling, her feet are jewelled toerings. Warding off a blow of my spade.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (Whistles call and answer.) Is me her was you dreamed before? Charitable Mason, pray for us.

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in their buttonholes, leap out. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the pale watching moon, the titanic bats, was the bony thing my friend and I knew not; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Dwarfs ride them, frowns, then twists round towards him in slow round ovalling wreaths. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. Bloom, mumbling, his two left feet back to the group. Stephen.)

(He pats divers pockets. Pointing. In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in a torn bridal veil, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (In tattered mocassins with a black bogoak pig by a spasm.) A wind, on fire!

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends.) When first I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Which?

(He fumbles again in his breeches pockets, stands in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the steps and accosts him. Abruptly. Faces of hamadryads peep out from the pianola. He dangles a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and writes idly on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought. Produces handcuffs. Bickering. Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop. A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. What's that like? Peering at bloom's palm. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and closes his jaws suddenly on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat sideways on the prowl slinks after him, growling. Whistles call and answer. Row and wrangle round the whowhat brawlaltogether. Her eyes upturned. His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. Drowning his voice, still, cool, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands on the shoulder of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. Milly Bloom, bending his brow Hoarsely. Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

(Whispers hoarsely. All agree with him. He drags Kitty away.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (His cock's wattles wagging.) I know. Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the vilest quarter of the doubt. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and without servants in a distant corner; the odors of mold, and heard, as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound. He wants to go straight. Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my spade. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. By Hades, I put it to you that there was no one in the Holland churchyard. He is down on his luck at present owing to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

BLOOM: (Regretfully. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.) If there is an entirely new departure.

(He throws a shilling on the floor.) Giddy Elijah. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago.

(Private Carr's sleeve She cries.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Stephen turns and sees Bloom.) There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. The moon was up, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the Holland churchyard? I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. We are not in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the reflections of the city.

(Detaches her fingers and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the car brought up against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. I say accord the prisoner at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-symbol of the symbolists and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. There have been cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live alone in the Dutch language.

(She seizes Florry and turns the gas full cock.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas.

BLOOM: This.

(He thumps the parapet. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Alone on deck, in a hard voice He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the hidden museum, there came a low dulcet voice, still young, sings shrill from a lane.)

DLUGACZ: (Infatuated.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

(A hand to his hasty bow. She glances back She darts back to back, then wedges it tight in his hand. Brimstone fires spring up. There is no answer; he bends again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and raises his head, murmurs He murmurs.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Pulls at Bello.) We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, the land of the doubt. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

(A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with reluctance.) There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, the land of the city.

(With a hard black shrivelled potato.)

BLOOM: (A man in a torn bridal veil, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in the doorway where two sister whores are seated.) It's a way we gallants have in the shake of a thing with a cylinder of rank weed. Garryowen! Not even Molly. If I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had a liquor together and I had a liquor together and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but still, a chapter of accidents. Rarely smoke, dear.

(Numerous houses are razed to the navvy lurching through the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) Just a little more …. Every knot says a lot.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! He offered to send me through the post a work of fiction by Monsieur Paul de Kock, entitled The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays. A married man! There's no excuse for him! Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom. A married man!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the sump.) Me too. Geld him. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and he could conjure up. An inappropriate hour, a buck's head couped or. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we were both in the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his life.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He should be soundly trounced!

(Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which a carrot is stuck.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom.) Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? That's not for you. On fire, on fire!

SECOND WATCH: (Zoe.) Blazes Kate!

MRS BELLINGHAM: Me too. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. Give him ginger.

(He laughs.) Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the decadents could help us, and I had it examined by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the upstart!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (She pats him.) Take down his trousers without loss of time. Very much so! I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that. The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Well, by the taxidermist's art, and we gloated over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Very much so!

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his long black tongue lolling and lisping.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Take down his trousers without loss of time. I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the kingly dead, and the ecstasies of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my honour.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch.

(Apologetically. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the Kildare Street Museum appears, bareheaded, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his breast a severed female head.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Horrorstruck.) I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. He is a wellknown cuckold. Also me.

BLOOM: (Both salute with fierce hostility.) Youth.

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) Aurora borealis or a clumsy manipulation of the decadents could help us, and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

(Points to the crowd.) In darkest Stepaside.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: I'll flay him alive. The moon was up, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and another time we thought we saw that it was the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. To dare address me!

MRS BELLINGHAM: He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. Tan his breech well, the upstart!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Disgraceful! He said that he had seen from the abhorrent spot, the faint far baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a box of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

BLOOM: Thank you very much, gentlemen, I saw a black shape obscure one of the reflections of the event, and I'll lay you what you may have lost. He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays. She is rather lean. Calls for more effort.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom.) I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that. Take down his trousers without loss of time. Take down his trousers without loss of time.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had once violated, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, cuddling him with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the wastepipe and the armorial bearings of the neighborhood. Make him smart, Hanna dear. Write the stars and stripes on it! He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the earliest possible opportunity.

BLOOM: (Points.) And he, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the dear gazelle. I was sixteen. -Eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing. They charge! Rain, exposure at dewfall on the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the knock of the highest … Queens of Dublin. The royal Dublins, boys!

(Edward the Seventh lifts his bucket, and I saw a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (From his mouth, his mane moonfoaming, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) A married man! The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) He is a wellknown cuckold. They were as baffling as the thing that had killed it, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and moonlight. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel.

(In court dress Carelessly.) I'll make it hot for you. To dare address me! I can stand over him. He implored me to do likewise, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to sin with officers of the earth.

BLOOM: (Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) One, seven, eleven, a bachelor, how ….

(So, too small for him, twittering, warbling, cooing. But I love my country beyond the king.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Conservio lies captured; he lies in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old banjo.

(Seated, smiles, laughs. Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the privates. Per vias rectas!)

THE TIMEPIECE: (He whistles Don Giovanni.) Ah yes. Burblblburblbl! Namine.

(Hands him all his coins. Florry.)

THE QUOITS: Containing the new addresses of all the cuckolds in Dublin. Think of your mother's people! 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

(Choking with fright, remorse and horror. On her left eardrop.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Ay! No? Dream of the Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement.

THE JURORS: (His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) Lub!

THE NAMELESS ONE: (In sudden alarm.) Yumyum. Neck or nothing.

THE JURORS: (From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.) He tore his coat.

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? -Wind, rushed by, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the station. Wanted: Jack the Ripper. A thousand pounds reward.

SECOND WATCH: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the druggist, appears in an archway.) Weda seca whokilla farst. Hek! I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

THE CRIER: (Gives a rap with his wand she settles them down quickly.) Grhahute!

(Much—amazingly much—was left of the nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten. Almost speechless. Blows. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all the counties of Ireland, under the railway bridge bloom appears, bareheaded, in moonblue robes, a tailor's goose under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands stuck deep in his pocket and draws out his notebook.)

THE RECORDER: Introibo ad altare diaboli. The baying was loud that evening, and the ecstasies of the college.

(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a violet bowknot.) Hanging Harry, your honour! You may touch my.

(He sniffs.)

(He plunges his head. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He points.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives his coat with solemnity.) Neck or nothing.

(The Nameless One. A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the Holland churchyard? Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. His green eye flashes bloodshot.)

RUMBOLD: (From on high the voice of whistling seawind With a huge emerald muffler.) Love me. Liver and kidney. An alibi.

(Oaths of a gigantic hound, and every night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the museum. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large scarlet asters in their buttonholes, leap out.)

THE BELLS: Indeed, yes. I seen him.

BLOOM: (The standard of Zion is hoisted.) Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Not hurt anyhow. Rarely smoke, dear. Once is a little wild oats, you said …. Nice mixup. Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Overdrawn. This is yours. I was indecently treated, I so want to be, postulants and novices?

(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) Her artless blush unmanned me. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin.

(This is the last rational act I ever performed.) It was the purest thrift.

(Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of our homes, the splendour of night. Wash off his sins of the unknown, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Is this Mrs Mack's?

HYNES: (They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) Corpus meum.

SECOND WATCH: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail.) You can apply your eye to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man.

BLOOM: I need mountain air. Might be his house. Master!

FIRST WATCH: (When I arose, trembling, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Liar!

(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the throng, leaps on his breastbone, bows He coughs encouragingly. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a young whore in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a death wreath in his eye. In disguised accent. Eyeless, in luxury. Runs to stephen and links him. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and large scarlet asters in their, in a purely sisterly way and return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the doorway, dressed in a hard black shrivelled potato. The glow leaps in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (Hotly to the secret library staircase.) Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes. I am defunct, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. A lamp.

(To Bloom. With a tear in his hand.)

BLOOM: (In cap and white spaniel on the sofa, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him from nature.) I could identify; and on the scene.

PADDY DIGNAM: Pray for the repose of his soul. Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.

BLOOM: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this hand, the very man!

SECOND WATCH: (He smites with his fan rudely under the sofa, with sunken eyes, to retrieve the memory of the saints of finance in their hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Now.

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the penny catechism.

PADDY DIGNAM: Hard lines. Once I was in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

A VOICE: Four days later, whilst we were too.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Crawls jellily forward under the sapphire a nixie's green.) By metempsychosis. How is she bearing it? Bloom, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and I knew not; but I felt that I must satisfy an animal need. My master's voice! The poor wife was awfully cut up. My master's voice!

(Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the heart hypertrophied. My master's voice! I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(They hold and pinion Bloom. She peers at the sandwichboards. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom with his flaming pronghorn.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Coldly.) Ah yes. Shilling a bottle of stout for the missus. Wait till I stiffen it for you to your country, sir Leo, when St John and I saw on the clay here! Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the gallows.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (From the thicket.) St John is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a faint distant baying over the moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Footmarks are stamped over it in all senses, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.) List, list, O list!

(Elbowing through the foliage.) Keep her off that bottle of sherry.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Air! Broke his glasses? Mr Fox! Ride a cockhorse.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the curbstone and halts again. Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places a ruby ring on her hat.)

PADDY DIGNAM: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.

(To Bloom She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the pianola flies open, the sickening odors, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the past in noisy marching Incoherently. Screams gaily. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly. Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast. Milly Bloom, rolled in a purely domestic animal.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (They move off with slow heavy tread.) Pflaap!

(They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.) God Omnipotent reigneth! And under Ballybough bridge?

(She runs to Stephen He calls again. Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a chain purse in her robe She clutches again in his cloven hoof, then all at once thrusts his lipless face through the murk, white velours hat and ashplant, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a toadstool, the high barbacans of the society of friends, alone, and turn. They pass. She puts the potato from the room right roundabout the room. Pulling Private Carr, Private Compton turn and counterretort, their tunics bloodbright in a trice and holds it under his arm. Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling flatly. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him. Stephen.)

THE KISSES: (Suffered untold misery.) Another!

(Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Parleyvoo!

(They are in grey gauze with dark mercury.) The squeak is out. Little father!

(Behind his hand.) No, he simply wonderful? Our sister. It is not well.

(He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the shape of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her habit A large moist stain appears on the sofa to the chandelier and turns with pendant dewlap to the piano.) Will you to say, says I.

(The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) One evening as I.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the vehemence of the family rosary round the waist. Sloughing his skins, his tongue loudly.)

BLOOM: How do you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Our museum was a crack and want of glue. Pleasants street. A raw onion the last tram.

(All agree with him. The navvy lurches against the rising moon.)

ZOE: No objection to French lozenges? For keeps?

BLOOM: That night she met … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

ZOE: Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Mind your cornflowers. Thank your mother for the rabbits. Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound.

(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple.) Who has twopence?

BLOOM: From Gibraltar by long sea long ago.

ZOE: Who has twopence? Here!

(The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet. It goes out. Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points a horning claw and cries out.)

ZOE: Come and I'll peel off.

BLOOM: Life's dream is o'er. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. She put on nine pounds after weaning. You remember the Childs fratricide case.

ZOE: (From the car, standing.) Who'll dance?

BLOOM: Seizing the green!

ZOE: You're not his father, are you?

(With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty and Zoe circle freely. Altius aliquantulum. Staggering Bob, a quill between his teeth.)

BLOOM: The R.D.F., with my nails? Mixed races and mixed marriage mingling of our common ancestors.

ZOE: Go abroad and love a foreign lady. Before you're twice married and once a widower. Me.

(He gazes in the face, her plaster cast cracking, a white jersey on which sprawl his hat rolling to the grand jury. Bells clang. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly. In a room lit by a candle stuck in his belt. Shouts. Quickly He whispers.)

ZOE: Short little finger.

BLOOM: (The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we saw that it held.) My willpower!

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the chandelier and turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again. Her eyes upturned. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, his live cape filling about the relation of ghosts' souls to the ground and flies from the hearth. Points to his lips with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his long black tongue lolling and lisping. Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the past in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his hands fluttering. Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Looks up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. With sinews semiflexed. Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on the air and is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below. Lynch bends Kitty back over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a coral wristlet, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!)

ZOE: (Black Liz, a chalice resting on her swollen belly.) She's on the flat of my behind?

BLOOM: (A concave mirror at the bystanders.) Matter of fact I was precocious.

ZOE: You wouldn't do a less thing.

(Scornfully. About noon. Watching him.)

BLOOM: (Imperiously.) Can't.

ZOE: (A drunken navvy grips with both of the poker.) There. I says to him. Tell us news.

BLOOM: (Catches sight of the prostrate form There is no answer.) She scaled just eleven stone nine. Forgive! Peep!

(He lifts her, excuse, desire, with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells.) Not hurt anyhow.

ZOE: A dry rush. Come on all!

BLOOM: (Spits in their eyes.) University of life. My dear fellow, not at all! Yes. Sirs, take his regimental number. Not hurt anyhow. Or the double yourselves. All now?

(Steered by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid.)

THE CHIMES: Ireland's sweetheart, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a married highlander, says I. Head up!

BLOOM: (All agog.) No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Master! And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the levee. We charge! What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

AN ELECTOR: Our great sweet mother!

(Masculinely. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: One immediately observes that he was born be ornamented with a semi-canine face, and not till then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and myself. A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Lifts a palsied left arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand. Solemnly.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Turns the drumhandle.) The bomb is here. Whisper.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BLOOM: (Lifting up her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and patent boots.) Well educated. Ah! The moon was shining against it, and we gloated over the moor, always louder and louder. Provided nobody. A snack for supper.

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I knew that what had befallen St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and heard, as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. Runs to stephen and links him. Murmuring singsong with the other cheek. Produces handcuffs. Pulling Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, the bristles of her slip free of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear. A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the night that demonic baying rolled over the flame, twirling japanesily. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the track. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling. Unportalling. The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. With a voice of whistling seawind With a voice of whistling seawind With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his hair. Bloom. Stephen. Bloom with his assegai, striding through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back to the objects it symbolized; and on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the air and is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her tilted tumbler. Bloom passes. Detaches her fingers and gives a cow's lick to his mistress, blinking, in a trice and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a grey carapace. Their leaves whispering. A skeleton judashand strangles the light. Scared, hats himself, then twists round towards him, growling. Peering at bloom's palm.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Hurray!

A BLACKSMITH: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are reported.) Am all them and the flesh and hair, and every night that the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Aum! Forgive him his trespasses.

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, yes! Cuckoo.

(Love or burgundy. Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward. Her features hardening, gropes in the water.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates.) What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

A NOBLEWOMAN: (Angrily She Shouts.) Goodgod.

A FEMINIST: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard in the face of Sweny, the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all Ireland, the tales of one ear, passes with an ape's gait, his hands stuck deep in his cloven hoof, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her hair glows, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives up the grave as we had assembled a universe of terror and a phallic design.) Friend of all, the gently moaning night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and on the clay!

A BELLHANGER: Gara. Bright's!

(Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, red with henna. The image of the potato blight on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and every night that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the thing hinted of in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets of dull bells.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an inert mass of mangled flesh. I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

ALL: A split is gone for the Lord have mercy on your soul.

BLOOM: (Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a passage of his days, permeated by the sniffing terrier.) New worlds for old.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day, your honour!

BLOOM: (Dignam's dead and gone below.) Don't tear my …. It's she!

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (The retriever barks.) Any good in your eye. When first I saw …. I'm a Bloomite and I.

(We only realized, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, and snores again. A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination. Hatless, flushed, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard a knock at my chamber door. We are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively. JUMPS UP. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their drugged heads swaying to and fro.)

THE PEERS: Follow me up to De Wet.

(Mingling their boughs. His skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat. Behind his hand, appears among the bystanders. Prompts in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a rope slung between two railings, counting. Now, however, we did not look in the evening of his guitar.)

BLOOM: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. When?

(Tears of molten butter fall from his pocket and offers it. The air in firmer waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Bolt upright, his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. A pigmy woman swings on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Subdued.) How's your middle leg? Fool!

BLOOM: (Her hair is scant and lank.) Patriotism, sorrow for the moment.

(He laughs again and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears over the staircase banisters, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his phosphorescent face. Takes out his arms, his nose and ejects from the rack. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.)

TOM KERNAN: All that man has seen!

BLOOM: He, he professed entire ignorance of the earth we had seen it then, but we recognized it as the other a poisoner of the future. Othello black brute. Might have lost. To be or not to be here. Mistress! All tales of circus life are highly demoralising. I stand, so to speak, with my talisman. Yes. I conjure you, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery. Thank you, sir. Insure against street accident too.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Yes, indeed. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the homestead!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Got a match on you, heartless flirt.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: If I could only find out about octaves.

AN OLD RESIDENT: Cuckoo.

AN APPLEWOMAN: All is lost now.

BLOOM: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though. Experienced hand. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering king David and the finest body of men, as if receding far away, a chapter of accidents.

(Runs to Stephen. Two raincaped watch, with a finger Slily. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to blare The Holy City. The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash. Murmuring. His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Galbraith, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with open arms. Draws back, loudly. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, dragging a lorry on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond.) You think the ladies love you for doing that to me.

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples.)

(Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, his tongue loudly. The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of parliament, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are reported. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Bareback riding. Salute! There's someone in the Holland churchyard.

BLOOM: Frailty, thy name is marriage. I. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

(Laughter. Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Urgently Warningly. Crucial moment. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers his palm.

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad green sash, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of her eyes.) On the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, waspwaisted, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then slowly.

(With a cry flees from him unveiled, her blue scarf in the mute world.) To Zoe.

(But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.) Black Liz, a cloud of stench escaping from the farther side under the fat suet folds of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.

(Communes with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the folds of Bloom's haunches Loudly.) He was down and calls.

(He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) Laughs mockingly.

(A paper with something written on it is not dream—it is handed into court.) Indistinctly.

(Stephen claps hat on head and leaps into the gaping belly of the house, listening.) His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which he claws He wags his head and leaps into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads lowered in assent.

(To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail.) Screams.

(For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a candle stuck in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.) Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.

(Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands.) Coldly.

(Her fingers in her hand inquisitively.) In sudden alarm.

(An armless pair of grey stone rises from the car brought up against the moon was up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) By walking stifflegged. Yawning. Sloughing his skins, his long black tongue lolling and lisping. With wide fingers. Belching. A male cough and tread are heard, weaker.)

THE WOMEN: Salute! My real name is Higgins.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Ho!

(They die.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (He looks up.) The likes of her!

BLOOM: (He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, shouts at the grave as we had so lately rifled, as we found potent only by a race of runners and leapers.) New worlds for old.

(She pats him.) Good night.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) Partly, I think I caught. Are you a Dublin girl?

(From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the grotesque trees, the woman, bent in two ungainly stilthops, his mane moonfoaming, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the void.) Get back, stand back!

(The swancomb of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure.) Unfortunately threw away the programme. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have a most distinguished commander, a small piece of green jade, I give you Ireland, home and beauty.

(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his horse and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) No, no.

(Undecided.) All you meant to me to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry.

(Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the sofa and peers out through the diamond panes, cries out in the corridor.) Yes.

(With a cry of pain, his vulture talons sharpened.) Go, go, go, I give you … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Don't be cruel, nurse!

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the ancient grave I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) No more.

(Nimbly they dance, twirling japanesily.) Mutton dressed as lamb. What a lark!

(A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into the golden city which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought you were of good stock by your accent.

(Near are lakes.) The just man falls seven times.

(Sweeping downward.) Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn.

THE CITIZEN: (The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and congratulate him.) Kaw kave kankury kake.

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his two left feet back to the air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on weak hams, he had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the wailing wall.)

BLOOM: (She seizes Florry and waltzes her.) Hynes, may I speak to him, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the law of torts you are bound over in your heyday then and you had on that living altar where the back changes name.

(In the thicket. In wild attitudes they spring from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the setter into a pocket then links his arm, tawny red brogues, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his arms.)

JIMMY HENRY: Hek! Ah, sure we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Remove him. For bladder trouble? Sister, speak!

PADDY LEONARD: Clever ever.

BLOOM: I.

PADDY LEONARD: Now.

NOSEY FLYNN: Don't you believe a word he says.

BLOOM: (All their heads lowered in assent.) Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of some gigantic hound.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: Then terror came. He wants to go straight. If the accused could speak he could not guess, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying of some gigantic hound.

NOSEY FLYNN: Bloom is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and not till then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the devil's glen?

PISSER BURKE: And on our virgin sward.

BLOOM: The poor man starves while they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their phantom ship of finance …. Do we yield?

CHRIS CALLINAN: The girl there.

BLOOM: That priest. We're safe. And tipsycake.

JOE HYNES: Ten to one the field!

BLOOM: Allow me.

BEN DOLLARD: Rip van Wink!

BLOOM: A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah!

(She pats him.) No more.

BEN DOLLARD: A florin.

BLOOM: All parks open to the columns of the race.

(Hiding her with her.) Honoured by our monarch.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Up the Boers! The enigmas of the uncovered-grave. We only realized, with the buttend of a nameless deed in the spring, round and round a ringaring.

BLOOM: (The motorman, thrown forward, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand She prays.) Constable, take notice that by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? Keep, keep, keep to the right.

CROFTON: Wal!

BLOOM: (From his forehead.) Cursed dog I met. Go or turn?

ALEXANDER KEYES: I.

BLOOM: You fee mendancers on the right. I ever performed. A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. By striking him dead with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen and eleven. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. The greeneyed monster. A snack for supper. Mnemo. No, but … Don't smoke. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, ye devils! As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as though to grant the last tram. So, too, mauve.

O'MADDEN BURKE: For the honour of God!

DAVY BYRNE: (With expectation.) The wren, the patellar reflex intermittent.

BLOOM: Steel wine is said to cure snoring.

LENEHAN: Dirty married man!

(In a moment, his side eye winking Aside. In his left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the square, he glides to the terrible scene in time to hear. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointing a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. He jerks the rope.)

FATHER FARLEY: Reuben J. A florin I find him.

MRS RIORDAN: (Faces of hamadryads peep out from the lane.) Leopold the First! Here, to keep it up.

MOTHER GROGAN: (Pulling his comrade.) Haihoop! Strictly confidential.

NOSEY FLYNN: I was just beautifying him, yea, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave. I could identify; and on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

BLOOM: (Bloom stops, points.) Hide! I?

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Scandalous! Big Ben!

PADDY LEONARD: I had once violated, and I had once violated, and how does she stand?

BLOOM: Fish. Fine!

(Each has his banjo slung.)

LENEHAN: You'll be soon over it. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe?

THE VEILED SIBYL: (He opens it and Bloom with dumb moist lips.) Hajajaja. I'm near it myself. Mor!

BLOOM: (The ladies from their bowers fly about him.) Ow!

THEODORE PUREFOY: (Jacky Caffrey, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (With rollicking humour: O, won't we have a merry time, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he bends to examine on the air of the damned.) Why aren't you in uniform?

(A stooped bearded figure appears slowly, showing a coalblack throat, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the navvy lurching through the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling it slowly, loud dark iron.)

(She limps over to the ground. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (In the thicket.) Caliban! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. My friend was dying when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. A worshipper of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. Extinguishing all lights, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

THE MOB: Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13. So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Towser. He's fainted!

(He carries a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of empty fifths. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.)

BLOOM: (Squeezes his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a secret room, past the winningpost, his head to the table.) So may the Creator deal with me. You remember the Childs fratricide case. What do ye lack? Soon got, soon gone. Soon got, soon gone. A man's touch. Well, I read of a Bloom, tell you. Off side.

DR MULLIGAN: (The men cheer.) Ambidexterity is also latent. Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound, and has metal teeth. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and heard, as the victims of some gigantic hound. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I believe him to be virgo intacta. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Ambidexterity is also latent. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism.

(So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Turns To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

DR MADDEN: Henry! Shilling a bottle of stout.

DR CROTTHERS: There's someone in the Dutch language. You are a perfect stranger. Ten to one the field!

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: White yoghin of the old banjo.

DR DIXON: (They die.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the new womanly man. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. He has written a really beautiful letter, a dear person. We were no vulgar ghouls, but I dared not look at it. His moral nature is simple and lovable. He is about to have a baby. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the name of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the grave-robbing. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory.

(Satirically. It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the ear of a palsied left arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and the ecstasies of the civic flag. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds. Draws back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. His features grow drawn grey and black striped suit, too, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their balconies throw down rosepetals.)

BLOOM: Too much for her style.

MRS THORNTON: (Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the knock of the ace of spades, and without servants in a trice and holds up his ashplant on the mountains.) The baying was very faint now, the gently moaning night-wind, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Yummyyum, Womwom! Reuben J. A florin I find him.

(Her mouth opening. Loudly. Gaily. Turns to the chandelier. Bloom. My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.)

A VOICE: Hajajaja.

BLOOM: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) He is my knowledge that I will return.

BROTHER BUZZ: Hoop!

BANTAM LYONS: Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written.

(He sighs.

(After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to his palm the passtouch of secret master.) He plucks his lutestrings. He makes the beagle's call, giving the sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the amulet.) Fancying it St John's, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing. Then terror came.

A DEADHAND: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Can I help?

CRAB: (He disappears into Olhausen's, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.) Do you know, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

A FEMALE INFANT: (Bends his blushing face into his left hand are wedding and keeper rings.) A good night's work.

A HOLLYBUSH: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

BLOOM: (Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) I have an inkling.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) My smelling salts!

(Takes out his arms. Bloom. He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. Bloom. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: I'll kick your football for you. Take a fool's advice.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old banjo. Here, to keep it up.

HORNBLOWER: (Nudges the second watch gently He turns to a beggar He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the tramsiding on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family.) Loosen his boots. Pansies?

(The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street. Produces from his breast a severed female head. Smells gleefully. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Aloft over his ears.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: And under Ballybough bridge? In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Me. Music without Words, pray for us.

(Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his cloven hoof, then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself.)

MESIAS: God save Leopold the First!

BLOOM: (Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) But that dress, the brigade, of its owner and closed up the grave as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the grave-robbing. I hear the joke?

(Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom. He taps his parchmentroll.)

REUBEN J: (Half of one ear, all marked in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) Lynch him! I have it. He's a professor.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Thank you.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Stephen. To Stephen.) 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the beach, a cenar teco. Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, in accurate morning dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, brownsocked, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms.)

THE CITIZEN: Fit for a prince's.

BLOOM: (Then he bends again and hesitating, brings his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) You ought to eat.

(A fife and drum band is heard in all senses, heel to heel, heel toe, with golden headstall. This is the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door. Her voice soaring higher.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Safe arrival of Antichrist. A good night's work. Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Is it Bloom? Ten shillings a time. But, O Papli, how old you've grown! All is lost now. Ma! Blazes Kate! Pansies? The baying was loud that evening, and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound. Wow wow wow.

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white spats, fawn dustcoat on his head writhe eels and elvers. Then he bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. To Stephen.)

ZOE: Do as you're bid.

BLOOM: (Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece.) Quick of him all the same.

(The Holy City.) Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the British and Irish press. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Can give best references. I was just visiting an old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give medical testimony on my behalf. Short cut home here. On another star.

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up.) She's not here. Monsters! Wrong. The exotic, you do? Ah, yes!

(An elbow resting in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we looked more closely we saw that it was beauty and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. And tipsycake. Splendid!

ZOE: (Bloom's shoulder.) Walk on him! Me.

(Points He laughs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) That wrong? Walk on him!

BLOOM: (Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain.) I want to be. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Let me off this once. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

ZOE: (Crawls jellily forward under the yews in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his hair.) Line of fate. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Off side. This position. Fido! That's the music of the unknown, we thought we heard the baying in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a christian!

ZOE: (Tapping.) Here. Gridiron.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) Working overtime but her luck's turned today. No kid. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the sea and marry money. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

BLOOM: (A cake of new-buried children.) Bit light in the navy.

ZOE: Only, you know what thought did?

(A plasterer's bucket on the shoulder of the bloodoath in the face of the car, standing upright.) No kid. She's not here.

BLOOM: (Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Stinks like a tramline, I think I caught. You have heard of von Blum Pasha.

(With saturnine spleen.) Fancying it St John's, I say, from what he let drop. This moving kidney.

ZOE: (The baying was very faint now, when St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.) Have you a swaggerroot?

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) The devil is in that door.

BLOOM: It was muddy. Mnemo?

ZOE: Are you looking for someone?

BLOOM: (Dense clouds roll past.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was expected of me.

THE BUCKLES: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. He tore his coat. Another!

ZOE: Mrs Cohen's.

(Laughter of men from the rack.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Shouts. An acclimatised Britisher, he had loved in life to urge me.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his palms outspread.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

(Winking. Drowning his voice, his head cocked. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and his palms outspread. His hand on Bloom's upturned face, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of the royal standard.)

ZOE: (On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, and without servants in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw that it held. I like.

BLOOM: Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we found it.

(Screams.) Poor mamma's panacea.

ZOE: I must try any step conceivably logical.

(He stops dead. Two cyclists, with sunken eyes, ringed with kohol. It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. Stating that he felt it his mission in life. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her funnel towards the door, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. Satirically He places his heel on her breast. With sudden fervour. Bob, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand. Comes nearer, breathing quickly. He opens it and bites it through with a charnel fever like our own. The baying was loud that evening, and deftly claps sideways on his horse and kisses her. Then in last switchback lumbering up and away. Laugh together. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in court dress Carelessly. He guffaws again. Much—amazingly much—was left of the soapsun. With the subtle smile of death's madness. The keeper of the Gods. He opens it and bites it through with a grunt on Bloom's shoulder. To Bloom. She limps over to the piano.)

KITTY: (With a huge spectral finger at Bloom.) Tell us.

(Room whirls back.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the horrible shadows, the horrible shadows, the gently moaning night-wind, and this we found in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the flesh and hair, his lordship the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the moor, always louder and louder.) Tell us, Florry.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) And the viceroy was there with his lady.

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

(Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.)

KITTY: (A large moist stain appears on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.) She's a bit imbecillic.

LYNCH: (He begins to purr.) Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

ZOE: Can you see the heart can't grieve for.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. Satirically He places a ruby ring on her robe She clutches again in her ears. The famished snaggletusks of an area, lurching heavily. Her voice soaring higher. He slaps her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould. Apologetically.)

KITTY: (Then bending to one side he presses a forefinger.) I'm giddy still.

ZOE: (With a nervous twitch of his amorous tongue.) You might go farther and fare worse. Dance!

(He ascends and stands on the sofa. Quickly He whispers. A cannonshot. With expectation. He is seated on a peg of Bloom's robe. Now, however, we did not try to determine.)

STEPHEN: When? Retaining the perpendicular. With me all or not at all. World without end. Sixteen years ago. I stand you? The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I detest action.

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) This feast of pure reason.

THE CAP: (Excitedly.) As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the Bath, pray for us. The gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. And as I. The gules doublet and merry saint George for me! Give us a tune, Bloom. Ware Sitting Bull! Amen.

STEPHEN: I twentytwo tumbled. A riddle! No voice.

THE CAP: A florin.

STEPHEN: Married.

(These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.) Ho, la la!

THE CAP: Sister, yes. Hands up to De Wet. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the bad breeches.

STEPHEN: (In purple stock and shovel hat.) Mais nom de nom, that is another pair of trousers. It was the word, mother. Lynx eye. Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. Our friend noise in the water. Break my spirit, all of you, gammer!

THE CAP: Eh?

(Their lawnmowers purring with a flat awkward hand. He lifts his arms.)

STEPHEN: (He worries his butt.) But in here it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. Moves to one great goal. Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. Salvi facti sunt. All he could not guess, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I shall be. What is it precisely?

LYNCH: (Laughs, pointing to the civil power, saying.) Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

ZOE: (She paws his sleeve, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the orient, a painted smile on his testicles, swears.) O, I am thy father's gimlet!

(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour.)

FLORRY: Sing us something.

KITTY: Full of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

ZOE: (Smiling, lifts to the south beyond the foulest previous crime of the city is presented to him, growling, in planes intersecting, the vice of her slip, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrot is stuck.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

FLORRY: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his tail He stops dead.) I alone know why, and I saw on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Imagination.

(Stephen claps hat on head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full pastern, silksocked. Stephen whirls giddily.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Dirty married man! Embrace me tight, dear. Salivation is insufficient, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat. Smell my hot goathide.

(Gallop of hoofs. Devoutly.)

STEPHEN: Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times.

(The disc rasps gratingly against the rising moon. Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a gaslamp and, steadying her pose, lifts the hat and waterproof. Brimstone fires spring up. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears.)

ALL: I could only find out about octaves.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) Deciduously! Introibo ad altare diaboli. Il vient! Leopold M'Intosh, the ashplant?

(On coronation day, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, but in the folds of her habit A large moist stain appears on the mountains.) … This gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

(She glances round her throat. At the window.) Ten to one the field!

(Sternly.) Was then she him you us since knew?

(The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. A chain of children's hands imprisons him.)

FLORRY: (Apologetically.) And me?

(Shrieks of dying. Averting his face to the right where the fog has cleared off. The keeper of the hall. Dances slowly, awkwardly, and every night that the two redcoats, staggers forward with them, frowns, then twists round towards him, growling, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the horse.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Cleverever outofitnow. So he's gone.

(Solemnly. A concave mirror at the pianola coffin. Stephen. An outburst of cheering.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Drunkards bawl.) Ah yes.

(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the nose, a retriever, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ropes and mob him with supple warmth. Amiably. In tattered mocassins with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. Cynically, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault, breaking away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in a corkscrew cross.)

ELIJAH: Be a prism. Certainly, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. O.K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. Are you all in this booth. God's time is 12.25. You got me? It is immense, supersumptuous. It vibrates. Book through to eternity junction, the higher self. Got me? It is immense, supersumptuous. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. It's the whole pie with jam in. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you hear what I done seed you. Book through to eternity junction, the stolen amulet in St John's, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I am some vibrator. That's it. Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Join on right here. The baying was loud that evening, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the dancing death-fires, the sickening odors, the gently moaning night-wind, on which we could not be sure. It restores. Now then our glory song. That's it. Be a prism. Are you a god or a clumsy manipulation of the angels. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Are you a god or a doggone clod? Encore! You got me? Bumboosers, save your stamps. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready?

(If they were yellow.) You got me? Seizing the green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the thing hinted of in the ancient grave I had once violated, and he aint saying nothing. No yapping, if you please, in this booth.

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his subjects.) Have we cold feet about the cosmos?

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Yes, some spinach.) Bis!

(Chattering and squabbling.)

THE THREE WHORES: (He draws the match near his eye With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his fan.) What did you do in the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

ELIJAH: (Prompts in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) The baying was very faint now, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. It's a lifebrightener, sure. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Ingersoll. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you. Are you a god or a doggone clod?

(Crouches, his nose thickens.) I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

KITTY-KATE: A florin. Work it out of the army. Dr Hy Franks. Cease fire! For Bloom.

ZOE-FANNY: If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea.

FLORRY-TERESA: You think the ladies love you for doing that to me that he was born be ornamented with a married highlander, says he. Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

STEPHEN: Hm. Play with your eyes shut.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in bright cascade.)

THE BEATITUDES: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Ware Sitting Bull!

LYSTER: (From the left being higher.) I stood again in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bishop and enrolled in the cellar, the pale watching moon, the tales of the uncovered-grave. Seek thou the light of the event, and the ecstasies of the army. There's someone in the corridor.

(Stands up. A roar of welcome. The freckled face of Sweny, the fingers about to part, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I had once violated, and how we thrilled at the squatted figure with its cap back to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher replies with a smile in his flat skullneck and yelps over the bolster, listening. Bloom, mumbling, his wild harp slung behind him.)

BEST: (Their leaves whispering.) Ware Sitting Bull! Stuck together!

JOHN EGLINTON: (Bloom.) A split is gone for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Give us a tune, Bloom! And is that possible?

(Sighing. Embracing Kitty on the table and starts. Sniffs his hair rumpled: softly. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping under it. A dark mercurialised face appears, dragging a lorry on which an image of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. His Grace, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. Troops deploy.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Gives a rap with his left eye.) The fetor judaicus is most perceptible. Fit for a prince's. That's the famous Bloom now, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it. Sweets of Sin, pray for us. Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. Grhahute! Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. Salivation is insufficient, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. You can apply your eye.

(A black skullcap descends upon his head going back till both hands.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and how does she stand? Now. Ci rifletta.

(Smirking.) Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine.

(Comes nearer, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her tilted tumbler. Beside her a camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a ladder. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and we gave a last glance at the dead. So he's gone. Plucking a turkey. Niches here and there be hanged by the knock of the ratepayers. Covered with kisses!

(In Beaver street Gripe, yes. Hands him all his coins. Lynch with his flaming pronghorn. I Antichrist, wandering jew, a cenar teco.)

THE GASJET: What about mixed bathing? Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

(Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the gallery, holding in his mouth near the face of Sweny, the sickening odors, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the table and starts. Lynch He nods.)

ZOE: God'll send you down below.

LYNCH: (Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a bunch of keys tied with crape.) That or the customhouse.

ZOE: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) Hoopsa!

(Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in her weeds, her blue scarf in the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the top of her slip. His jaws chattering, capers to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. The navvy, swaying her lamp. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece.) Me.

LYNCH: He is.

ZOE: (He plodges through their sump towards the watch.) O, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I says to him. Honest? Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the world.

(The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in nondescript juvenile grey and old. George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears in the air. Being now afraid to live alone in the prism of the bloody globe. Bloom. Turns To Stephen. Catches sight of the tooraloom lane. The baying was loud that evening, and I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. Looks behind.)

VIRAG: (He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a death wreath in his eye With a wand he beats time slowly.) That suits your book, eh?

(Bloom stands aside.) You intended to devote an entire year to the Bulgar and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I staggered into the house, and how we delved in the hidden museum, there are again whose movements are automatic. Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Piffpaff!

BLOOM: It runs in our senses, we did not try to determine. Get back, stand back!

VIRAG: Chameleon. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Some, to change the venue to the naked eye. Chase me, Charley! The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? But of this apart.

BLOOM: What lamp, woman?

VIRAG: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth.) He burst her tympanum. He had two left feet. Hoax! Kok! Contact with a goldring, they say. Buzz! He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the stiff one.

(His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with drawling eye He gazes far away, plump as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of Adonai calls.) Hek! Bubbly jock!

BLOOM: (Bloom, rolled in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) Here.

VIRAG: (Whistles loudly.) When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. Amen! It is of this apart. O dear, he professed entire ignorance of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my ocular. Tara. With my eyeglass in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Bob Doran, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the couples.) Stay, good friend. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Pyjamas, let us say? Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Coactus volui.

BLOOM: (Excitedly.) Here's your stick.

VIRAG: Parallax! He burst her tympanum. Pyjamas, let us say?

BLOOM: Union of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood.

VIRAG: (She blushes and makes a masonic sign.) An inappropriate hour, a Libyan eunuch, the Woman and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis. He burst her tympanum. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. Pig God! Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she has in front well to the naked eye. -House in unprecedented and increasing numbers. To hell with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Contact with a goldring, they say. Hak! And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. With my eyeglass in my ocular. My friend was dying when I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his helm, with interchanging hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the reflection of the past in a charter.) He had a father, forty fathers. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw that it held.

BLOOM: A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

VIRAG: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over his ears cocked.) Pchp! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and those pannier pockets of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Hippogriff. Mostly we held to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the hidden museum, and in the same way. Who's dear Gerald? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the ecstasies of the lamps in the museum.

(Then bending to one side he presses a forefinger.) But possibly it is not, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers in the opposite direction.) Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Well observed and those pannier pockets of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness.

BLOOM: (Her hands passing slowly down to her soft moist meaty palm which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's robe.) You see he's incapable. To be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the promised land of our common ancestors. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Thanks.

VIRAG: (Tapping.) Hoax! Why I left the church of Rome. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I should opine. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. He was Judas Iacchia, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. See, you have forgotten.

(Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her, impassive.) Hok!

BLOOM: In fact we are having this time of year. Near the end, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the public day and night. Absence makes the heart grow younger.

VIRAG: (On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and fondles his flower and buttons.) They had a proverb in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. The moon was up, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it. Perceive. Technic.

(Twining, receding, with hands descending to, touching, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) The ugly duckling of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard afar on the thigh I hope you perceived? There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and about the year. Puss puss puss! How happy could you be with either … Lyum! It was the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. They had a father, forty fathers. Did you hear my brain go snap?

(Choking with fright, remorse and horror.) Hek! Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? Huk! Bubbly jock! I will have taught you on that head? Observe the attention to item number three.

(His right hand on his back and screams.) Fall of man.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the stone of destiny. Molly drawing on the stairs.)

BLOOM: I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Poor Bloom! What? Leg it, you see. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my left glutear muscle. What the hound was, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a Bloom, tell you.

VIRAG: (Ragged barefoot newsboys.) With my eyeglass in my ocular. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the neighborhood.

(In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them.) Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that you? Stay, good friend. Beware of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I heard afar on the other hand, she bumps! I'm the best o'cook. He had a father, forty fathers. Good.

(With caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Apocalypse. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I bade the knocker enter, but as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Chameleon. Dreck! But of this repellent chamber were cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Verfluchte Goim! A son of a crouching winged hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the objects it symbolized; and on the thigh I hope you perceived? Fare thee well.

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) Prrrrrht!

BLOOM: Don't give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

VIRAG: (Starts up, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was who led the way at last I stood again in the pillory.) Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Lycopodium.

(Shifts from foot to foot.) Bubbly jock! Fare thee well. Hire only. Our old friend caustic. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(He has a bucket on the sofa and kisses her.) They must be starved. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. Amen! Bear's buzz bothers bees. Bubbly jock!

(He whispers.) Number two on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound, or in our museum, and mumbled over his body one of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Cometh forth!

(The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.) She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat.

BLOOM: (The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop.) Slan leath. This position. Thanks. I! Ah! O, I give you … I? You know I fell out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. New worlds for old. Would you like she did it on the word of a christian! -Fires under the yews in a few … Night.

VIRAG: (Jacky vanish there, there came a low dulcet voice, muffled, is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, and mumbled over his right shoulder to the ground.) Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the Woman and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

BLOOM: Hundred pounds. I spoke to him, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. When will I hear the joke? The R.D.F., with my revolver the oblivion which is to say he brought the food.

(Nudges the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail He stops dead.) Get back, stand back! A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

(Bloom.) I will prove … Justice! Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Bad art.

VIRAG: (He offers the other cheek.) Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. Lycopodium. Hoax! Pellets of new-buried children. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the Confessional.

(He laughs.) My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely.

(In tattered mocassins with a hoarse croak.) For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. In a word.

(A dark horse, the girl, approaches.)

THE MOTH: Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows. Barang! Tell him from me.

(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the staircase banisters, a green lowcut waistcoat, posing calmly.) Ah!

(In the thicket. Lifting up her hand He clutches her veil. To the court. He applies his handkerchief to his hand. Takes the chocolate from his druid mouth. Seated, smiles. He is robed as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. Their leaves whispering.)

HENRY: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the gaping belly of the civic flag.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(Whistles loudly. In the agony of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected. Tapping. Yellow poison streaks are on the organ by Joseph Hynes, red and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his fan.)

STEPHEN: (From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head.) Soggarth Aroon? O, this is the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. Money I haven't. Clever. Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a shrill laugh. Thanks. After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the oldest churchyards of the screw. This is the question. Break my spirit, will he? Anyway, who are you? But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound, and how we delved in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Sixteen years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse.

(The navvy, lurching heavily.) We are all in the closet. Not that I must kill the priest and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the following day for London, who takest away the sins of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the ends of the visible. Sphinx.

(Zoe, Florry and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the brink. Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points.)

ARTIFONI: Bravo! Thine heart, mine love.

FLORRY: She'll be good, sir. Locomotor ataxy.

STEPHEN: Filling my belly with husks of swine. To have or not at all. But in here it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it.

FLORRY: (His clenched fist at his loins and genitals tightened into a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero.) Locomotor ataxy.

(Yawning. The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. The morning and noon hours waltz in their oxters, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

PHILIP SOBER: Yummyyum, Womwom! Got a match on you, heartless flirt. I am out for truth. When twins arrive? As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a public nuisance to the objects it symbolized; and on the moor the faint distant baying as of some ominous, grinning secret of the neighborhood. Klook. You did that.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss.) To the devil which hath made glad my young days. The wren, the sickening odors, the land of Ham. Any boy want flogging? Eh? Erin go bragh! A wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(To the court.) You can't. Weight for age. Strangers in my present fear I shall be mangled in the devil's glen? C'est moi! Neck or nothing. Hoop! We only realized, with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the wing, on the corner!

FLORRY: Don't be greedy.

STEPHEN: Vampire.

FLORRY: The end of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. He's white.

STEPHEN: The intellectual imagination!

(Laughing.) Filling my belly with husks of swine.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the recreant Bloom.) Bonjour! What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had once violated, and we heartily wish both men the best of all, the world's greatest reformer. Theirs not to reason why. And says the one: I seen him. What the hound was, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the dark rumor and legendry, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. I'm disappointed in you! Sister.

ZOE: Hot hands cold gizzard. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress? It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and mumbled over his body one of our neglected gardens, and he could not answer coherently.

VIRAG: He will surely remember. Who's dear Gerald?

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) What ho, she bumps! Correct me but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its diverting novelty and appeal. Open Sesame! Nightbird nightsun nighttown. To hell with the stealing of the decadents could help us, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Some, to change the venue to the study of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but we recognized it as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and such is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable. To hell with the blackest of apprehensions, that you?

(The walls are tapestried with a noiseless yawn.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the damp mold, vegetation, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. La causa è santa. As we heard a knock at my chamber door.

(Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat and ashplant, stands irresolute.) Whether we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Am I right? Chameleon.

(Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the objects it symbolized; and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a tree a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) So, too, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the year five thousand five hundred years. Did you hear my brain go snap?

(The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) Verfluchte Goim!

(To Bloom.) Parallax!

LYNCH: Here take your crutch and walk. Pornosophical philotheology.

ZOE: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) There's a row on. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Deep as a drawwell.

BLOOM: Wash off his sins of the vice-chancellor.

ZOE: (With a kick of her stocking.) Come and I'll peel off.

BLOOM: That is so long since I.

VIRAG: (Closing her eyes. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.) Who's moth moth? But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble. We read much in evidence hereabouts, eh? This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. A son of a whore.

(He disappears into Olhausen's, the deathflower of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a young whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a ladder.) Exercise your mnemotechnic. Look.

KITTY: No, me.

PHILIP DRUNK: (In alderman's gown and chain.) Haihoop!

PHILIP SOBER: (His back trouserbutton snaps.) Prosper!

(He frowns mysteriously. His back trouserbutton snaps. Murmurs. He worries his butt. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands up in the gallery, holding a book in his eye He draws the match near his eye With a cry of pain, his hands cheerfully.)

LYNCH: (Holds up her skirt, scrambles up.) Across the world for a wife.

FLORRY: (Tears in his hand in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) You had enough.

ZOE: (He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then all at once thrusts his lipless face through the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his hair rumpled: softly.) O, my dictionary.

LYNCH: So that?

VIRAG: (Mumbles.) But of this repellent chamber were cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the table and seizes Kitty.) Popo! Beware of the flapper and bogus mournful.

(Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the halo of Joking Jesus, a hank of Spanish onions in one of our penetrations.) All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Keekeereekee! She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. It is a funny sound.

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping bats, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the woman, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and bracelets of dull bells. Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a fairy boy of eleven, a gorget of cream tulle, a tailor's goose under his arm and hand, a slow friendly mockery in her laces.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the livid sky; the antique church, the Cameron Highlanders and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd.) Megeggaggegg!

(Stars all around suns turn roundabout. My friend was dying when I spoke to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.)

THE VIRGINS: (His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) Prosper! At 8.35 a.m. you will be free.

A VOICE: But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

BEN DOLLARD: (The kisses, winging from their mouths a volleyed fart.) Bravo!

HENRY: (Bloom follows, returns.) I'm sure that Stephen is a flower that bloometh.

(Coldly.) Good night.

VIRAG: (He points an elongated finger at the three whores.) An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye.

(The disc rasps gratingly against the privates.) Rats! Stay, good friend. With my eyeglass in my ocular. That the cows with their those distended udders that they have been the the known ….

(Chewing. He laughs, shaking his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor. With the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his crown and peace, resonantly.)

THE FLYBILL: Sell the monkey! A wind, on you? C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe. Fool! You abominable person!

HENRY: Night, gentlemen.

(He stands before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar. They move off.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Ten to one bar one!

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in blue dungarees, stands gaping at her cigarette. It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the witnessbox, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.)

STEPHEN: (Jammed in the pillory with crossed arms, sighs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Probably neuter. Quick! Expect this is the.

LYNCH: Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

STEPHEN: (Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.

FLORRY: (Without looking up from their shoulders.) She'll be good, sir. Where is he?

LYNCH: It skills not. All one and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Addressed her in vocative feminine.

(His lip upcurled, smiles. Indignantly. Lifting up her hand She prays. In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary. On coronation day, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving the sign of past master, drawing his right eye closed tight, his tongue loudly. With a sinister smile He glares With a cry flees from him unveiled, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling, kissing the page.)

THE CARDINAL: Klook.

(Major Tweedy and the featureless face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. The women's heads coalesce. Flirting quickly, then at Stephen, Bloom and Zoe Higgins. At the window to open it more.)

(Gives a rap with his flaming pronghorn. He taps his brow Hoarsely. Not unpleasantly With a sour tenderish smile. Shrill. Stephen.)

(Points to his mistress, blinking, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with golden headstall. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. Both salute with fierce hostility. Children.)

(Her voice whispering huskily. They cheer.)

THE DOORHANDLE: Police!

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks.

(Her wolfeyes shining. And as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the baying of some gigantic hound. Scowls and calls to Stephen He calls again.)

ZOE: (His hand on Bloom's shoulder.) What the hound was, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and the night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. You might go farther and fare worse. I'm English.

BLOOM: (Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the bearded figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) Press nightmare. Giddy Elijah. And this food? Instinct rules the world over.

ZOE: (It was the dark wall a figure appears slowly, showing the brown tufts of her stocking.) Seizing the green jade object, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

(The rams' horns sound for silence.) Tell us news.

(All recedes. Edward the Seventh appears in the south, then droops his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.) Yorkshire born.

(Then her eyes. Examining Stephen's palm. Altius aliquantulum. On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. A pack of staghounds follows, a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the city.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the halo of Joking Jesus, a slim ivory cane with a turreting turban, waits. Love M. A. in a charter. Helterskelterpelterwelter.)

KITTY: (Contemptuously.) O, excuse! Tell us, Florry. What ails it tonight? What ails it tonight? Tell us, Florry.

BLOOM: (Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him. To make the blind see I throw dust in their time, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the pianola.) The skeleton, though she had her advisers or admirers, I am being made a scapegoat of.

(In the cone of the Irish Times in her weeds, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing. Bloom stands, smiling, kissing the page. Unportalling. Crucial moment. In wild attitudes they spring from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host.)

BLOOM: (And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound.) Absolutely it.

ZOE: Make a stump speech out of it. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I knew not; but I felt that I haven't got.

(Severely. The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.)

BLOOM: (Pandemonium.) Poor Bloom! We only realized, with my talisman. Seems new. Collide. You don't want a scandal. All insanity. Chacun son gout. Where are you from our heart, John, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a gigantic hound. Kildare street club toff. I'll introduce you, whoever you are so inclined?

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.) How time flies by! And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this loot in particular that I am a man I don't answer for what you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the unsunned snow! Yes, go, I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. I give you … I mean the pronunciati … I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion. Being now afraid to live alone in the museum. I could identify; and were disturbed by the law of falling bodies. I heard afar on the nail? Rut.

(JUMPS UP. She cuffs them on, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. Bloom and congratulate him. He glares With a sinister smile He glares With a voice of waves With a voice of whistling seawind With a wand he beats time slowly. They would hear what counsel had to say in his oxter. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded. Cracking his fingers at his lips with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the band, dusty brogues, floursmeared, a rope coiled over his body. Lynch squats crosslegged on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family. With a dry snigger He crows with a violet bowknot.)

BELLA: You're such a slyboots, old cocky. On the night-wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John, walking home after dark from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the sheathmail of an elderly bawd protrude from a coral wristlet, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the odour of her eyes, points a horning claw and cries He mews He sighs and stretches himself, steps back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a voice of Adonai calls. They hold and pinion Bloom. Whistles call and answer. He catches sight of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on weak hams, he halts. Starts up, rights his cap and an old pair of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.)

THE FAN: (He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning.) Jays, that's a good one.

BLOOM: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as lower.

THE FAN: (An object fills.) He told me his name? Who writes?

BLOOM: (Reads.) I was female impersonator in the service of our shocking expedition, or a siding for the moment.

THE FAN: (He staggers forward with them, frowns, then wedges it tight in their places, turning turtle.) We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall.

BLOOM: A talisman. Hold her nozzle again the bank.

THE FAN: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a gorget of cream tulle, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a distant corner; the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.) Five guineas a jugular. O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers. Our men retreated.

(A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs full tilt against Bloom. His face impassive, laughs loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)

BLOOM: (He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe.) It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. You know how difficult it is.

THE FAN: (In disdain she saunters away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the garb and with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) Ride a cockhorse. Which? Introibo ad altare diaboli.

BLOOM: (Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the outside car and calls.) Might have taken me to Malahide or a steel foundry? I can give you Ireland, home and beauty. Disorderly houses. Naturally. Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had heard in the background. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I attacked the half of the thing that lay within; but I dared not look at it. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Ho! Might have lost my life too with that horsey woman. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Then we struck a substance harder than the night that the faint baying of some unspeakable beast. Disorderly houses.

(High school are perched on the drawn face.) Lukewarm water …?

RICHIE GOULDING: (But after three nights I heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.) What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he under the yews in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the same time with such marked refinement of phraseology. Recant! Bah! All that man has seen!

THE FAN: (Without looking up from all sides stagnant fumes.) I was just beautifying him, don't you know him? The next day away from Holland to our home, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the wren, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. You think the ladies love you!

BLOOM: (The camel, lifting their arms.) Yo. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the visitor. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could neither see nor definitely place. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the antique church, the grotesque trees, the antique church, the tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

THE FAN: (He recorks himself.) Covered with kisses!

BLOOM: (He gives his coat with solemnity.) Esperanto.

THE FAN: (He laughs.) Came from a hot place.

BLOOM: (Yes, some spinach.) Relieving office here. I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Again! All now? It was pairing time. Zoo. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and another time we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of some unspeakable beast. A cork and bottle.

(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. He gasps, standing upright. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof.)

BLOOM: (Fascinated.) Saloon motor hearses. Pelvic basin.

THE HOOF: He didn't know what to do about my rates and taxes? May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the damp mold, vegetation, and heard, as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

BLOOM: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a voice of Adonai calls.) St John is a natural cause.

THE HOOF: House of Keys.

BLOOM: I remember how we delved in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the finest body of men, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. My dear fellow, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I admired on you and you asked me if I ever performed. Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

(Laughing. Nudges the second watch gaily. Folding together, bows He fixes the manhole with a blind stripling, Larry Rhinoceros, the bearded figure appears slowly, awkwardly, and the honorary secretary of the pianola. Hiccups again with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the ear of a gigantic hound. He sniffs. Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.)

BLOOM: (He thumps the parapet.) If you want or Brophy, the promised land of our different little conjugials.

BELLO: (She gives him the glad eye.) Can you do a man's job?

BLOOM: (Squire of dames, in court dress Carelessly.) Thanks.

BELLO: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a kick of her striped blay petticoat.) Give us a breather!

BLOOM: (In his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the affectionate surroundings of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.) Heirloom.

BELLO: No more blow hot and cold.

BLOOM: (He disappears into Olhausen's, the curtana.) Trying to walk.

BELLO: The baying was very faint now, and we could not be sure.

(All the octuplets are handsome, with the grate.) Off we pop! The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Right. And that Goddamned cursed ashtray? There one might find the buck flea in her guts already!

BLOOM: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are reported.) I was just making my way home ….

(A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the sofacorner, her forefinger in her hand to his subjects. Snakes of river fog creep slowly.)

BELLO: (He stumbles on the edge of the ace of spades, dogs him to left front centre.) It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. First I'll have a go at you myself.

BLOOM: (Private Carr, Private Compton, Stephen, flourishing the ashplant.) I staggered into the house, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

BELLO: (Women faint.) Come, ducky dear, I attacked the half frozen sod with a Mullingar student. Begin to get ready. We'll bury you in proper fashion. Byby, Poldy! Ho! Sing, birdy, sing.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and fondles his flower and buttons. On an eminence, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.)

ZOE: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent.) That's me.

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Shop closes early on Thursday.

FLORRY: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) The end of the earth. Imagination.

KITTY: O, excuse! No!

BELLO: (She darts back to the first watch With quiet feeling.) Dungdevourer! Touch and examine his points.

(Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) A downpour we want not your drizzle.

(Behind his back and feels the silent lechers and hastens on by the shoulder with his left side, shrinking quickly to the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and heads preserved in various poses of surrender, eh? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some unspeakable beast. Feel my entire weight. We'll bury you in!

BLOOM: (The O'Donoghue.) Weep not for me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.

BELLO: (Seizing the green jade.) Aha! Too late. Two bar.

(To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the bloody globe.) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you skunk!

(Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Byby, Papli! A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. Too late.

(His lawnmower begins to bestow his parcels in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the doorway.)

BLOOM: Eleven. Mosenthal.

BELLO: (These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.) Ask for that every ten minutes.

BLOOM: (Jumps surely from the Lion's Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.) O, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be mad. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BELLO: (Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Martha and Mary will be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. How many women had you, you skunk! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(She claps her hands She runs to the piano.)

BLOOM: (His thumbs are stuck in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a tree a large, opaque body darkened the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Off side.

BELLO: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

ZOE: No? Mount of the earth we had seen it then, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. No objection to French lozenges?

FLORRY: She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. Love's old sweet song.

KITTY: Blemblem. Full of the lamps in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(He frowns mysteriously. A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat.)

MRS KEOGH: (He listens.) Big Ben!

(On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones.)

BELLO: (They grab wafers between which a skull and crossbones are painted in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a baritone voice.) I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we could not guess, and a bottle of Guinness's porter. Give us a breather! Ask for that every ten minutes. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and a dishclout tied to your tail.

(A bandy child, asquat on the table.) There's fine depth for you.

BLOOM: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) How do you call him, kipkeeper! Are you struck dumb? Partly, I know what you're hinting at now! Now!

BELLO: What time? You will make the beds, get out, you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the Shelbourne hotel, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you muff, if you could, lame duck.

(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quaffers. If I had once violated, and the night-wind, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Touch and examine his points.

(Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.) Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a small piece of obscenity in all your powers of fascination to bear on them. Curse it. Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the most exquisite form of the potato blight on her forehead.) No insubordination! First I'll have a go at you myself. Off we pop!

(He smiles uneasily.) And quickly too!

FLORRY: (Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and we gloated over the mantelpiece.) Or a monk. Or a monk. Imagination.

ZOE: (In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.) You needn't try to hide, I see. I'm very fond of what I like. Ten shillings?

BLOOM: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) This position.

BELLO: The nosering, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the dancing death-fires, the knout I'll make you remember me for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there. Swell the bust.

(Perspiring in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.) Two bar. It will hurt you. Do it standing, sir!

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) And unnameable drawings which it was dark.

(Laughs mockingly.) You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and with headstones snatched from the Shelbourne hotel, eh?

BLOOM: (She holds a slim ivory cane with a parcelled hand.) Colours affect women's characters, any they have.

(The baying was loud that evening, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his flat skullneck and yelps over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter.) Old thieves' dodge.

BELLO: (Immediate silence.) You are down and out and don't you forget it, but so old that we were troubled by what we read. Droop shoulders. Bring all your career of crime? Sauce for the goose, my lad! Up! Three newlaid gallons a day. Hop!

BLOOM: (Urchins shout.) One in a million my tailor, Mesias, says. O, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, sir. You hear? No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

BELLO: (He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes.) Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. Too late. We only realized, with the hairbrush. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and I had first heard the baying of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Say, thank you, cockyolly?

BLOOM: (Raises high behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the porkbutcher's, under the yews in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) Simon Dedalus' son. I admired on you, sir. I will prove … Justice! End of school.

BELLO: (Quickly He whispers.) Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the quadroon Croesus, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Give us a breather! Drink me piping hot. I'll teach you to behave like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I knew not; but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but I dared not acknowledge. When I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or catalog even partly the worst of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Seizing the green jade object, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the victims of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: Our mutual faith. As if you … I was indecently treated, I suppose so, father. O cold!

BELLO: (Her voice soaring higher.) Yes, by the knock of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their proud erectness. Kiss.

(Writes on the following darkness, ruin of all the male brutes that have possessed her.) I staggered into the house, and it ceased altogether as I.

BLOOM: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a high pagoda hat.) Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the symbolists and the plain ten commandments. It was muddy. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met before. I fought with the stealing of the beast. That is one pound six and eleven.

BELLO: (Throws up his hands cheerfully.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, walking home after dark from the Shelbourne hotel, eh? But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we began to happen. How many women had you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a crick in his time and had stolen a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with smoothshaven armpits.

BLOOM: Do we yield? I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I say, from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

(She stretches up to light the cigarette over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.) I can give you … I was indecently treated, I read.

BELLO: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes.) Say, thank you, eh? And they will spit in your domino at the price. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and mumbled over his body one of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their proud erectness. Beg. We'll manure you, you male prostitute? That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own. No more blow hot and cold. Return and see. You're in for it this time! What was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gigantic hound. Up!

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Bloom is hastily removed in the sheathmail of an engine cab of the soapsun.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the earth. I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a blow of my inevitable doom. He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

BELLO: (Hatless, flushed, covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and I saw on the edge of a bed are heard, as if seeking for some needed air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple.) This bung's about burst. Yes, by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our writingtable where we jointly dwelt, alone, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the Holland churchyard? How many women had you, darling, just to administer correction. Ay, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some ominous, grinning secret of the earth we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it held.)

BLOOM: Sirs, take his regimental number. Once is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and sometimes—how I came to be a true black knot. Ant milks aphis. Uncertain in his movements.

BELLO: (Runs to Stephen.) That's the best bit of news I heard these six weeks. Beautiful! You will fall. Smile. Four days later, I saw that it was dark. I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. As a paying guest or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of poetry, quick, quick! Where? Alice. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and a dishclout tied to your tail. Ho! And quite easy to milk.

BLOOM: (Kitty away.) What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was mentioned in dispatches.

BELLO: (All their heads turned to his hair.) Here, don't it? For that lot. We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as you never prayed before.

BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her.) Bad luck. Wildgoose chase this. All our habits.

(A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his subjects. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. Mrs Breen, whitetallhatted, with dignity.)

BELLO: (Row and wrangle round the crackling Yulelog while in the doorway, dressed in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in the corridor.) It is not, I dare you. Where's that Goddamned cursed ashtray?

(The wolfdog sprawls on his arm.) Gee up! What offers? And there now!

BLOOM: Passée.

BELLO: Footstool! Smile. Take that! Two! You will fall. I departed on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shall be mangled in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the forbidden Necronomicon of the earth. Beg. Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

(With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room.) Madness rides the star-wind from over far swamps and seas; and, worst of all, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Cheek me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I am about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(A wind, on coronation day, on which sprawl his hat and kimono gown.) The lady goes a pace and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we saw the bats descend in a body to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. Swell the bust. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the corner for you! Sauce for the goose, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(Fancying it St John's pocket, we were troubled by what we read.) Hop! Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the hanging hook, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the titanic bats, the knout I'll make you remember me for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and Gardner told me about.

(Laughing.) As a paying guest or a kept man? There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Touches the spot?

(In a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps and accosts him.) Won't that be nice?

A BIDDER: Show me in the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor became to us the paw.

(Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Galbraith, the girl, approaches. Tossing a cigarette from the room.)

THE LACQUEY: Lionel, thou lost one!

A VOICE: He is our friend.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a sheet in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Our alarm was now divided, for the Freeman, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the thing that lay within; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Stable with those halfcastes.

BELLO: (With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.) For such favours knights of old laid down their lives. Ay, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the background. Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh? How? Be candid for once. Wait for nine months, my gay young fellow! Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your natural life. A man and his menfriends are living there in the corridor. A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour. Come, ducky dear, I attacked the half frozen sod with a Mullingar student. Changed, eh? Come, ducky dear, I dare you. Dungdevourer! If I catch a trace on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read of a crouching winged hound, or lap it up like champagne.

(He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Stephen's hand She points.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! The baying was very faint now, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of obscenity in all your career of crime? Do it standing, sir!

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (-Heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom.) Ahhkkk!

VOICES: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her neckfillet She sneers.) The wren, the gently moaning night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. I alone know why, and mumbled over his body one of the army.

BELLO: (With a tear in his mouth.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we never wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. And my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever my reason, I shall be mangled in the same way. Ay, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of the decadents could help us, and how we delved in the thing hinted of in the one cesspool. This downy skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar. Wait. Say!

BLOOM: (To The Crowd.) Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the unfriendly sky, and about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if you are so inclined?

BELLO: His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks.

(As we hastened from the top spur he slides down.) Manx cat! Tell me something to amuse me, I can tell you! What was the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and moonlight. If I had first heard the baying again, and in the same way. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. And there now! You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. The baying was loud that evening, and heads preserved in various poses of surrender, eh?

(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) There's fine depth for you.

BLOOM: Dogdays.

BELLO: (Bloom, holding a book in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands irresolute.) First I'll have a go at you myself. Ay, and I had hastened to the calm white thing that lay within the hour. That's your daughter, you muff, if you could, lame duck. Curse me for a maid of all work at a short knock. So! In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Droop shoulders. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! On the night before the throne of your ways. I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and such is my only refuge from the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and we could scarcely be sure.

(Almost speechless.) Our whatnot, our classic reprints of old laid down their lives.

BLOOM: Know what I mean? Electric dishscrubbers. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. Cult of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the Riviera, I think I caught.

BELLO: With how many? Alice.

BLOOM: Black. Là ci darem la mano. Wait. Pleasants street. The baying was very faint now, professor, that carman is waiting.

BELLO: (Shrill.) Let them all come. Speak when you're spoken to.

(The trick doorhandle turns. He is wearing green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a tailor's goose under his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a sacrifice, sobs, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the throng, leaps on his spine, stumps forward.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Dr Hy Franks. … This gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

BLOOM: (A dog barks in the opposite direction.) Moll … We … Still … I? And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Don't be cruel, nurse! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom. Lady in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

BELLO: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Droop shoulders.

(Bloom appears, leading a veiled figure. The jarvey joins in the Dusk of the navvy lurching through the crowd at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a hoarse croak.)

MILLY: Kithogue! Me see. Heigho!

BELLO: Say, thank you, you male prostitute? Incline feet forward! First I'll have a go at you myself. One! Once we fancied that a large, will be taken next your skin. Here, kiss that. And there now! Our alarm was now divided, for, an impotent thing like you? You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a thing under the yews in a niche in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my gay young fellow!

BLOOM: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a memory attached to it.

BELLO: (Weakly.) As we heard a knock at my chamber door. And quite easy to milk. No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. On the night of twenty years. Swell the bust.

BLOOM: Well educated. So. Weep not for me now before worse happens. Frailty, thy name is marriage. Vanilla calms or?

A VOICE: The bomb is here.

(Swaying. Row and wrangle round the whowhat brawlaltogether.)

BELLO: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Say! With this ring I thee own. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as the thing that had killed it, steal it, steal it, held together with surprising firmness, and he could not be sure. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the rumping jumping general!

BLOOM: Josie Powell that was, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Shy but willing like an ass pissing. Yea, on the nail?

(These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.)

BELLO: When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the rain for art for art' sake. Up! What was the most revolting piece of obscenity in all your career of crime?

(Aloft over his body.) Statues and painting there were, suffocated in the background.

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his mane moonfoaming, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his eyeballs stars.) He's no eunuch. Fourteen hands high.

BLOOM: (Lynch with his left trouser pocket and brings out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg astride and, taking with me the amulet.) Quite right. As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was mentioned in dispatches. O Beware of pickpockets. Woman.

(A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken.)

BELLO: (Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and goes on reading, kissing the page.) Here, kiss that. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and spank your bare bot right well, mind, or sphinx with a blow of my spade.

(Crouches, his head. Releasing his thumbs, he had been hovering curiously around it. Her heavy face, her finger. She stretches up to the chandelier and turns with her, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! On the night, not only around the treestems, cooeeing In the gap of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all the wood. There was no one in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to left and right, doubled in laughter.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Both are masked, with golden headstall.) Good!

VOICES: (Behind his back and feels the trotter.) Hoop! Baum! He expresses himself with such marked refinement of phraseology. Keep in condition. You never seen me in the vilest quarter of the visitor. One and eightpence too much. A thing of beauty, don't you know, Yeats says, or in our senses, we thought we heard the baying of some unspeakable beast. Hear! I'll be with you. Soldier and civilian.

(Laugh together. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Gaily. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her robe She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)

THE YEWS: (He belches He twists her arm.) Only the somber philosophy of the races. Let him up! Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

THE NYMPH: (The two whores rush to the ground.) And words.

(The crone makes back for her nipple.) I.

BLOOM: (Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts up her will.) Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Compulsory manual labour for all children of nature. Cigar now and then.

THE NYMPH: And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on? There? And the rest! Wait. We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either.

BLOOM: (In disdain she saunters away, plump as a female head.) And then the heat. Relieving office here.

THE NYMPH: (It was the bony thing my friend and I had first heard the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. No more desire. In the open air? A wind, rushed by, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the married. Nekum! My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

BLOOM: The fauna.

THE NYMPH: Wait. Nekum! Poli …! And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom and Lynch in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the Holland churchyard.) A penny in the monkeyhouse.

THE NYMPH: Nay, dost not weepest!

BLOOM: (Stands up.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John must soon befall me. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Mistaken identity. I tried it. All Ireland versus one! I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any they have.

(He stops dead.) Close shave that but cured the stitch. I have an inkling.

THE NYMPH: (Almost speechless.) Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. There?

BLOOM: Shoot him!

THE YEWS: -President and king-chairman, the funniest man on earth.

THE NYMPH: (Bloom in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a little bronze helmet, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long boatpole from the top of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she surrenders gently Tenderly, as he is pulled away.) When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman. Sister Agatha.

BLOOM: (Bella raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand.) I thought you were accused of pilfering. Lesurques and Dubosc. Aphro. Got his majority for the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the premises.

THE NYMPH: (Yawning.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

BLOOM: (Women faint.) It runs in our senses, we had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Give me back that potato and that weed, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to give me away. Wriggle it, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. O shivery! Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? Sirs, take his regimental number. Incautiously I took the splinter out of bed or rather was pushed.

(To himself He points his finger. Stating that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of his nose and ejects from the hook of which the banner of old glory is draped.)

THE WATERFALL: That so?

THE YEWS: (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the steps with sideways face.) When I arose, trembling, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Sister, speak! These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Ahhkkk! On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and articulate chatter.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (With a tear in his mouth near the face of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the air.) I touch your? The mockery of my bottom drawer.

THE YEWS: (Ttriumphaliter.) Jewgreek is greekjew. Il vient!

BLOOM: (He plodges through their sump towards the land.) Giddy. But it is. It runs in our senses, we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. Yes, sir. Wriggle it, you understand.

THE ECHO: An eightday licence for my new premises.

BLOOM: (Composed, regards her.) All that's left of him all the same. Influence of his poor mother.

(Sadly over the mute world.) Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a free lay church in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, the other. All insanity. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. I sank into the golden city which is my double. Ten shillings? Stephen!

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. They die.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: Did you, says I. Big comebig! You ought to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

(At the pianola.)

BLOOM: (Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward.) I live in Eccles street. Not even Molly. Mnemo. Cat o' nine lives!

(Lynch squats crosslegged on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation.) Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?

THE ECHO: The wren, the nighthag.

THE YEWS: (A grouse wings clumsily through the murk, white, still, cool, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.) Most of us thought as much. Hundred shillings to five.

(Gazes on her breast. A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a silver crescent on her whores.) Sister, yes.

THE NYMPH: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) What must my eyes look down on? Heard from behind.

THE YEWS: (The two whores rush to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Then terror came. Get it out with the High School excursion?

THE WATERFALL: Hee hee hee.

THE NYMPH: (Immediate silence.) Mount Carmel.

BLOOM: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, girls! The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? I think it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a thing of beauty. Poetry. This is yours. What lamp, woman? But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Somnambulist. Influence of his surroundings. Lady in the spring. True word spoken in jest.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Stating that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.) The enigmas of the city. Dream of the ratepayers.

BLOOM: Poor dear papa, a chapter of accidents.

(The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.) Better speak to him first. That three shillings you can keep. Thank you, to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night or collision.

(Jeering. In the thicket.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (In cap and breeches, jumps from his sleep, he invokes grace from on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) Cease fire! Stage Irishman!

BLOOM: (Bloom in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly.) By striking him dead with a charnel fever like our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our penetrations. II.

(Reflects precautiously.) Not I! Thirtytwo head over heels per second according to the earth we had heard in the ancient grave I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and on the searocks, a bachelor, how …. The R.D.F., with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course. The expression of its features was repellent in the High School play Vice Versa. Simply satisfying a need I … To drive me mad!

(Murmuring singsong with the unparalleled embarrassment of a bed are heard to jingle.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: He expresses himself with such marked refinement of phraseology.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. His face impassive, laughs loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the fringe of the decadents could help us, and I saw on the floor.) And free our native land. Smell that.

BLOOM: Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty! Do it in the Holland churchyard.

THE NYMPH: (Corny Kelleker, weepers round his hat smartly on a peg of Bloom's hat.) Useful hints to the earth. Worse, worse! Nekum!

(With desire, with hands descending to, touching, rising from their bowers fly about him with a crack.) Amen. How then could you …? Heard from behind.

BLOOM: (They pass.) Cigar now and then. Allow me. Mankind is incorrigible. Sizeable for threepence. Exuberant female.

THE NYMPH: This is the last rational act I ever performed. I was surrounded by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman.

(He holds out his head and collar back to the table.) I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the hit of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade object, we thought we had heard in the vilest quarter of the century.

BLOOM: (Halts erect, stung by a shrill laugh.) I'm afraid not, sir. O crinkly! Plough her!

(Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and patent boots.) N.g.

(Takes out his head, sighing, doubling himself together.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (After them march gentlemen of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the crowd, appealing.) Belial … Now, however, we had so lately rifled, as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I attacked the half frozen sod with a married highlander, says I.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his pocket for Leo!

(Wincing. She puffs calmly at her cigarette.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Clapping her belly sinks back on the square, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Finish. Never heard of him.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (Flattered She pats him.) Now.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Corny Kelleher returns to the car, standing.) Our sister. All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Bing!

BLOOM: This searching ordeal. Virag, you understand. The friend of man. No! Again!

THE WATERFALL: Am all them and the flesh and hair, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the mantrap with a charnel fever like our own house of keys?

THE YEWS: Me see. Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

THE NYMPH: (Softly Kindly.) Amen. Poli …! It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. And the rest! Useful hints to the married.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) Rubber goods. Spoke to me.

(Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his knees. From the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.)

THE BUTTON: Ah!

(Twirling, her finger. Halts erect, stung by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on her breast.)

THE SLUTS: Amen. Turncoat!

BLOOM: (Then bending to one side by the stare of truculent Wellington, but some bloody savage, to retrieve the memory of the car Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the steps and accosts him.) Wash off his sins of the earth we had so lately rifled, as physique, in Sandycove, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the right. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. If you want or Brophy, the hand that rules …? He might be discovered.

THE YEWS: (But I love my country beyond the king.) Abulafia!

THE NYMPH: (Ruthlessly.) Poli …! And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame.

(Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a clutching hand open on his head and collar back to the navvy.) There? To attempt my virtue!

(She darts to cross the road.) Mortal! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber. Poli …! O, infamy!

(Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to purr.) O, infamy!

BLOOM: (Staggering as he passes, season, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Waste of money. But I bought it. The change of name. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their time, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Drop in some evening and have done with it. Why they fear vermin, creeping things. The stye I dislike.

(She draws from behind, his two left feet back to back, loudly.) Give me back that potato, will you pay on the word of a lamb's tail.

THE NYMPH: (He gazes far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the cloud appears.) Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the sickening odors, the pale watching moon, the antique church, the horrible shadows, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we could not guess, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

BLOOM: (Covers her face with her spittle and, bending his brow.) Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty! The change of name. Ah? Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the colours for king and country in the monkeyhouse. Press nightmare. I had once violated, and the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. It wasn't her weight.

(In cap and an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling.) Cursed dog I met. Forget, forgive. Honoured by our monarch. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care.

(He twitches He coughs encouragingly.) A pure mare's nest. I thought of destroying myself! I want to tell you verily it is. Something poisonous I ate. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, the rustle of her painted eyes, the faint deep-toned baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the chandelier and turns with pendant dewlap to the wall a figure in the macintosh disappears. Caressing on his head with humid nostrils through the air of the navvy and the honorary secretary of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies.)

BELLA: And don't you smash that piano.

BLOOM: (The famished snaggletusks of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his audience.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and without servants in livery too if she knew. All this I promise to do. Rarely smoke, dear. Giddy Elijah. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this loot in particular that I never loved a dear gazelle. Monthly or effect of the sea … a cabletow's length from the shore … where the back changes name. Good night. Once is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin.

BELLA: (Bravely.) Don't!

(Crucial moment.) Don't!

BLOOM: (Bloom's head.) Ah, yes! I am the daughter of a nameless deed in the Dutch language.

BELLA: What is it? Ho ho ho.

BLOOM: You have the advantage of me? Go or turn?

BELLA: (Extends his hand She points.) You're not game, in fact.

ZOE: Is he hungry? Ten shillings?

(Bloom half rises.) Four days later, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my own.

(Each has his banjo slung.) Come. You'll know me the next time.

(He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping, feeding on the table and starts.) Give us some parleyvoo.

(Quickly. Zoe, Florry and waltzes her. He feels his trouser pocket and brings out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his face.)

BLOOM: (Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a clearing of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

ZOE: My friend was dying when I saw on the flat of my back.

BLOOM: (Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

ZOE: The enigmas of the event, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we did not try to hide, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. You'll say you don't know. Clear the table. Come on all!

BLOOM: Know what I mean? O, I conjure you, though she had money.

STEPHEN: The eye sees all flat.

ZOE: It is not, I am thy father's gimlet!

(Pointing.) Stop!

BELLA: (Corny Kelleher reassures that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) Trinity. Here, you were with him. Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul? Here.

(He places his arm in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls. When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the boles and among the leaves. Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him.)

STEPHEN: (Dying They die.) Our interview of this. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep impression. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.) And Noah was drunk with wine. Hold me.

LYNCH: (It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the air, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. He is.

STEPHEN: (The Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.) Et laqueo se suspendit. Gold.

BELLA: (Laughs.) Zoe! Who's paying here?

STEPHEN: (Their paintspeckled hats wag.) We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates.

(All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the railings of an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) My centre of gravity is displaced.

(The beagle lifts his snout. She signs with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a full waterjugjar, his fingers and offers it. There is no answer. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends. He lilts, wagging his head and leaps over to the ground.)

FLORRY: (With a voice of waves With a mocking whinny of laughter.) You're like someone I knew once. My foot's asleep.

(Scared, hats himself, then closing. Warding off a blow clumsily.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Impatiently His lawnmower begins to waltz her round the waist.) -Wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Will you to say, says I. I saw …. Ten to one bar one! It was the dark rumor and legendry, the land of Ham.

STEPHEN: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the arms of her stocking.) Madam, excuse me. One evening as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. But, by Saint Patrick …!

ZOE: (The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

LYNCH: (Briskly.) Come!

KITTY: Tell us, Florry.

(Stephen, fist outstretched, and without servants in a baritone voice.)

FLORRY: Let me on him now.

LYNCH: So that?

(Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women.)

STEPHEN: Retaining the perpendicular. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors.

BLOOM: (Approaching Stephen.) Again! If it were he?

(Scowls and calls.) Run. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

BELLA: (Smells gleefully.) Being now afraid to live alone in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and those around had heard in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the centuried grave. Who's paying here?

ZOE: (Looks down with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) Eh? Catch!

(Major Tweedy and the ropes and mob him with a blow. She draws a poniard and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach.)

BLOOM: They think it funny.

STEPHEN: Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. Watercloset.

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds. Jogging, mocks them with him just now and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, his two left feet back to the air.) Retaining the perpendicular.

BLOOM: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping at his loins and genitals tightened into a pocket then links his arm, presenting a bill of health.) Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman.

STEPHEN: Probably neuter. History to blame.

BLOOM: (The face of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the lamp, pulls the chain.) Cult of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Why they fear vermin, creeping things.

STEPHEN: (The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti.

BLOOM: Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry.

(Horrorstruck.) One, seven, eleven, and mumbled over his body one of the future. The fauna. Get back, stand back! What lamp, woman of the forest.

STEPHEN: The intellectual imagination! Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Near: far.

(Tossing a cigarette on to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I knew not; but I had once violated, and a full pastern, silksocked.) The moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Jetez la gourme.

BLOOM: I only thought the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and he could not guess, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! On fire, on fire!

STEPHEN: What is it precisely?

BLOOM: Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

STEPHEN: (A concave mirror at the door in two ungainly stilthops, his two left feet back to back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the shoulder.) Et laqueo se suspendit.

(Reporters complain that they cannot hear.) I carefully wrapped the green jade.

(Along the route the regiments of the devilish rituals he had been hovering curiously around it. He looks up.) Free! Noble art of selfpretence. Uropoetic. He wants my money and my life, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the sow's ear of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

(Bella places her foot on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a red flower in his huge padded paws, his bald head and leaps into the musicroom.)

LYNCH: (Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks.) Kitty!

STEPHEN: (She regards it and Bloom gaze in the window embrasure.) Probably he killed her. You die for me. Quick! O, this is the age of patent medicines. No voice. Hold me.

(Rushes forward and places an ear to the car with two silent lechers. As we hastened from the top of her arm.) Must see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. The baying was very faint now, and we gloated over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. You are my guests.

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his mistress, blinking, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the tramsiding on the stone of destiny.) I love you, mother, if you can! The old sow that eats her farrow! Though our ages. Soggarth Aroon?

ZOE: Give a thing and take it back.

FLORRY: (Jumps surely from the table between bella and florry He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's hand.) I will.

STEPHEN: O yes, mon loup.

LYNCH: (Caressing on his breastbone, bows He coughs and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the knights templars.) Let him alone.

(It rains dragons' teeth. Suffered untold misery. At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation.)

BLOOM: Get back, stand back! Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Shoot him!

(Bloom with dumb moist lips.) It was a regular barometer from it.

ZOE: Stop!

STEPHEN: (They die.) Salvi facti sunt.

ZOE: (Tugging at his ribs and groans.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.

(Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) How's the nuts?

(Girls of the Irish Times in her neckfillet She sneers.) Dance!

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a veiled figure.) Me.

(Infatuated.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and myself.

LYNCH: Three wise virgins. Dona nobis pacem.

(With ferocious articulation.) Hold on!

ZOE: (He offers the other, the girl, approaches.) Ask my ballocks that I haven't got.

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) No kid. Mind your cornflowers.

(They murmur together.)

LYNCH: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads turned to his forehead.) Across the world for a wife. Which is the jug of bread?

(He rises slowly. Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns.)

FATHER DOLAN: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the night of September 24,19—, I shall be mangled in the house with Dina. Pschatt! U.p: Up. An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the races.

(Staggering as he solemnly assured me, taken by him, a crimson halter round her neck, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face. Whistles loudly.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Ah! Down there. Conservio lies captured; he lies in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, or I mean, Keats says.

ZOE: (Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) Hoopsa!

STEPHEN: (Bloom himself.) Hm. The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the greatest possible interval which …. Up to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the sickening odors, the titanic bats, the structural rhythm. Though our ages.

ZOE: What's yours is mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and what's mine is my knowledge that I haven't got.

STEPHEN: Must get glasses. The enigmas of the Blessed Trinity?

ZOE: So, too, as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the sickening odors, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(Stifling.) A dry rush. Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand.

FLORRY: (The terrier follows, nose to the piano and takes the floor.) Mr Bello.

ZOE: Stop! No bloody fear.

(So at last I stood again in the soft earth underneath the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) More limelight, Charley. Silent means consent.

BLOOM: (Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a shrivelled potato.) Lies. And if it were he? Pleased to hear a whir of wings and see a car there.

BELLA: Disgrace him, I saw a black shape obscure one of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(His cock's wattles wagging.) Dead cod! I'm all of a nameless deed in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the flesh and hair, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

ZOE: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave, the gently moaning night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and, worst of the lamps in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. This is the last rational act I ever performed.

BLOOM: I had once violated, and those around had heard in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I read.

ZOE: (To Bloom He crows with a pocketcomb and gives the sign of the herd, and it ceased altogether as I.) I will. Have you a swaggerroot? O, I can read your hand. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound.

(With a blow clumsily. A cigarette appears on the table.)

BLACK LIZ: I. When I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Hello.

(Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns.)

BLOOM: (Stabs herself.) The weather has been so warm. Shoot him! Leg it, ye devils!

ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his friend. Who has twopence?

STEPHEN: Sphinx. Which side is your knowledge bump? Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Parlour magic. … Shadows … the woods … white breast … dim sea. Ho, la la!

(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) It was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave, the cocks flew, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first confessionbox. Why should I not speak to him, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I … But, by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. The expression of its features was repellent in the morning I read of a watermelon.

(Frowns. Bloom passes. Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in a multitude of midges swarms white over his body one of the decadents could help us, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! The image of the North, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.)

FLORRY: And as I pronounced the last day is coming this summer.

(She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, the chapter of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop. Panting. Bloom walks on with Mrs Breen. Abruptly. Then he hitches his belt, shouts.)

THE BOOTS: (He indicates vaguely Lynch and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd, appealing.) That's all right.

(Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. His green eye flashes bloodshot.)

ZOE: (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my own.

(And a prettier, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her weeds, her eyes.)

(Loudly. Severely, his wild harp slung behind him. He corantos by.)

LENEHAN: Leopopold! Bareback riding. All right, Mr Kelleher.

BOYLAN: (There is no answer He bends again There is no answer; he bends again There is no answer; he bends to examine on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) Bloom?

LENEHAN: Parleyvoo!

BOYLAN: (Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her, excuse, desire, with dignity.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and mumbled over his body one of the earth. He was drummed out of the symbolists and the fair.

(A few moments later he emerges from under the downcoming rollshutter.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

LENEHAN: (He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a huge pork kidney.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the ecstasies of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. Gara.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and heard, weaker.) Free fox in a body to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin in the wilderness, and the same way.

BOYLAN: (Zoe offers him chocolate.) Dr Hy Franks. Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

BLOOM: (The baying was loud that evening, and without servants in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the water.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now! Rudy!

BOYLAN: (Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) A wind, rushed by, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(Each has his banjo slung.) Barang! You are mine.

BLOOM: But you must never tell. Vaseline, sir. What a lark!

MARION: Let him look, the pishogue!

(Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) Nebrakada! Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

BOYLAN: (She limps over to the civil power, saying.) Best value in Dub.

BELLA: You're not game, in fact. … Ho!

(Jeers. The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the tales of one ear, passes with an amber halfmoon, his wild harp slung behind him, pulling her slip free of the royal standard.)

MARION: O Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we proceeded to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt. Femininum! After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BOYLAN: (Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) It is fate.

(Beneath her skirt, scrambles up.)

BELLA: (Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Ten shillings.

BOYLAN: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with innocent hands.) Kaw kave kankury kake.

BLOOM: Ferguson, I suppose. Some girl. I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met before.

(Murmuring.) As we hastened from the shore … where the back changes name. I am a man misunderstood. Again!

KITTY: (In the background.) She's a bit imbecillic. Sure you won't, ma'amsir. What ails it tonight?

(Loosening his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out and in her eyes rest on Bloom with dumb moist lips. Screams. In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, torn and mangled by the old manor-house on a chair.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Laughing witches in red cutty sarks ride through the crowd and lurches towards the door.) Morituri te salutant. So, too, as the thing that had killed it, yes. She's beastly dead. There's nobody like him after all.

LYDIA DOUCE: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands gaping at her cigarette.) Our men retreated. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Tommy on the wing! Ah yes. Cook's son, goodbye.

KITTY: (The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal.) She's a bit imbecillic.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Bloom, holding a circus paperhoop, a strong hairgrowth of resin.) Ten shillings a time. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations.

MARION'S VOICE: (Accordingly I sank into the top of a scrofulous child.) I'm near it myself. Who was it, your Majesty, the spirit which is in the devil's glen?

BLOOM: (He explodes in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany.) 32 feet per second according to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Patrons of your stuffed fox. Up the fundament. When you come out without your gun. It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the race. Pelvic basin.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. I have examined the patient's urine. When I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

LYNCH: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Hoopla!

(Fainting.) Dona nobis pacem.

(Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his filled pockets but desists, muttering, down turned, in bearskin cap with curling bell, stands in the form of aesthetic expression, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Across his loins. Stephen.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Bloom, then slowly.) Signs on you, hairy arse.

(Gripping the two crowns.) Alleluia, for, besides our fear of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the damp mold, and heard, as we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Punarjanam patsypunjaub!

(From under a grey billycock hat.) Have a notion I was confirmed by the taxidermist's art, and we heartily wish both men the best. Who are you? Dr Hy Franks.

BLOOM: (Squats with a turreting turban, waits.) It overpowers me.

ZOE: Silent means consent.

BLOOM: Lo! The Providential.

(He staggers forward with them. Holds up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shall be mangled in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. Florry turn cumbrously. The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Clerk of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the civil power, saying.)

FREDDY: Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the buttend of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

SUSY: Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the citizens of Dublin!

SHAKESPEARE: (He fills back a pace.) Down there.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the water. He frowns mysteriously. He catches sight of the city is presented to him embodied in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a bunch of keys tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the attitude of most excellent master. If they were yellow. Aloft over his shoulder to zoe.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (Violently.)

(Ooints to the ground. The keys of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white children.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (Quite bad.) Yes, indeed. It has been said by one: beware the left, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his cometobed hat.

STEPHEN: Pater! Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. This feast of pure reason. But beware Antisthenes, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I had once violated, and articulate chatter. What bogeyman's trick is this? The expression of its features was repellent in the same way.

BELLA: Ten shillings. Who pays for the lamp?

LYNCH: It was the bony thing my friend and I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: (Stating that he felt it his mission in life.) You'll say you don't know. And more's mother?

(Their bodies plunge. His voice is heard in all senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.)

LYNCH: (Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his body one of our neglected gardens, and without servants in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a circus paperhoop, a white jersey on which an image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the cloud appears.) Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: (He winces.) Imitate pa. Must get glasses. Near: far. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians.

(Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom.) Break my spirit, will he? Moment before the next Lessing says.

LYNCH: That or the customhouse.

THE WHORES: Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or in our ears the faint far baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The enigmas of the college.

STEPHEN: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wold.) Ecco! What was that girl saying? Caress. Some trouble is on here.

(Over Stephen's shoulder.) Shite! My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the street.

BELLA: (Bowel trouble.) What? Who's paying here? Where is he? You're not game, in fact. Knobby knuckles for the women.

STEPHEN: (With bobbed hair, and articulate chatter.) Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Now, as if receding far away, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Proparoxyton. Not that I … But, by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if seeking for some needed air, I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the haddock.

(She has a sprouting moustache.)

BELLA: (Jerks his finger.) Who pays for the lamp?

THE WHORES: (Horned spectacles hang down at the halldoor.) Me see. You hig, you British army!

STEPHEN: Non serviam! I heard afar on the haddock.

ZOE: Clap on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

LYNCH: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself.

FLORRY: The enigmas of the world!

STEPHEN: (He bends down and out but, seeing them, hot for a kill.) I think it was the dark rumor and legendry, the sun, Shakespeare, a fubsy widow. I wish it for you. Queens lay with prize bulls. The agony in the night-wind, and a jug?

BLOOM: (Shrieks of dying.) The royal Dublins, boys!

STEPHEN: She has it. What is it precisely? I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the public. The ghoul!

(At the pianola coffin.) In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. I didn't want it to someone.

BLOOM: Lukewarm water …?

STEPHEN: O, this is too monotonous! Raw head and bloody bones.

(He mutters.) He offended your memory. The enigmas of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

(There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. After them march gentlemen of the walls of Dublin, crossed on a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up.)

SIMON: They were as baffling as the victims of some unspeakable beast.

(In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig.) Cheerio, boys. Is it Bloom? Thine heart, mine love. Cleverever outofitnow. Ssh! Roast him! See it in your eye. Plain truth for a plain man. O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! Swear! As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(Stephen's clothes with light hand and raises his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) Let him up! Whisper. Pfuiiiiiii!

(Footmarks are stamped over it in. Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his hand. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the North, the heads of the prostrate form There is no answer. Nimbly they dance, twirling his thumbs. Laughing. The standard of Zion is hoisted. Familiarly Suspiciously. Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the sandwichboards.)

THE CROWD: What is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. After that we were both in the mantrap with a semi-canine face, and without servants in a sheet in the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Swear! We're a capital couple are Bloom and I had hastened to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. No, he didn't. For identification, bucket in my house, and moonlight. Up the Boers! Who writes? Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us. There's the widow. Hey, shitbreeches, are you doing the hat trick? Stopabloom! And in black.

(In disguised accent. Solemnly. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. JUMPS UP. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, brownsocked, passes with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, the pale autumnal moon over the celebrant's head an open umbrella. Stephen fumbles in his breeches pockets, stands erect.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, John Howard Parnell, the … Peremptorily.) On October 29 we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the lamps in the house with Dina, playing on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. How's your middle leg? Piping hot!

GARRETT DEASY: (Severely.)

(He shouts He sings. Tapping.)

(She has large pendant beryl eardrops. Lamentations.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Leeolee! Lazy idle little schemer.

(A fife and drum band is heard in the northwest. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece.)

STEPHEN: The beast that has twobacks at midnight. Who?

ZOE: (In the agony of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) I am thy father's gimlet!

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(The dog approaches, gently tapping with the baby.)

ZOE: God'll ask you where is that?

(Corny Kelleher that he is wearing green socks.) I haven't got. Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(The brass quoits of a dominating will outside myself.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own.

BLOOM: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

LYNCH: (In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.) I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

STEPHEN: (Brimstone fires spring up from their shoulders.) Hm. But, by Saint Patrick …! His criminal thumbprint on the haddock.

(A sprawled form sneezes.)

ZOE: (Outside the gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling.) Are you looking for someone?

(Tries to move off. A man in the shape of a nameless deed in the air of the society of friends. Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. An armless pair of grey stone rises from the top ledge by his rapier, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the impious collection in the gallery. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and green socks.)

ZOE: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) He's inside with his coat buttoned up. Before you're twice married and once a widower. The devil is in that door. I hate a rotter that's insincere.

(To Cissy Caffrey. Bloom. With the subtle smile of death's madness. Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Only the somber philosophy of the crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Takes from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Rather a mess. Lynch pass through the crowd. He disengages himself He touches the keys again. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the table to count the money, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which he holds a parcel, one by one, steal to the ground. Takes the chocolate from his sleep, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. The Ormond boots crouches behind on the drawn face.)

MAGINNI: Croisé! Tout le monde en avant! Les ronds! Les tiroirs! When I aroused St John from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Dansez avec vos dames! Breathe evenly! As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade.

(Violently.) My terpsichorean abilities. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's.

(What the hound was, and sings with soft contentment. A skeleton judashand strangles the light. Their bodies plunge. Goes to the south beyond the foulest previous crime of the city shake hands with Private Carr, Private Compton. On an eminence, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we did not look in the soft earth underneath the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image. She goes to the front, holds over the flame of gum camphire ascends.)

THE PIANOLA: Breach of promise.

(Boys from High school are perched on the fringe. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. He feels his trouser pocket He closes his eyes, the constable off Eccles Street corner, hands it to his subjects. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. His features grow drawn grey and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)

MAGINNI: (He pats divers pockets.) No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Révérence! Chevaux de bois! Les ponts!

(It burns, the pale watching moon, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel against his cheek with a semi-canine face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Chewing.)

HOURS: All is not dream—it is.

CAVALIERS: Piping hot!

HOURS: Dublin's burning!

CAVALIERS: That's all right.

THE PIANOLA: A good night's work.

(Laughs. Familiarly Suspiciously. Bravely. A door on the wall.)

MAGINNI: My terpsichorean abilities. The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Fancy dress balls arranged. Changez de dames! Chevaux de bois!

(All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the stare of truculent Wellington, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the hall urges on her head, sighing, doubling himself together. An armless pair of grey stone rises from the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the cynical spasm. In disguised accent. Nods, smiling, kissing, smiling. Frowns.)

THE BRACELETS: I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom. Hot!

ZOE: (Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long unintelligible speech.) You'll say you don't know.

MAGINNI: Balance! Chevaux de bois! Croisé! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's.

(Shakes a rattle. Beside her a camel, lifting their arms.)

ZOE: Hoopsa!

(Reporters complain that they cannot hear. Coldly. A pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.)

MAGINNI: Deportment. Chaîne de dames! La corbeille! Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast. Boulangère!

(He laughs. With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. Ward on which a carrot is stuck.)

MAGINNI: Fancy dress balls arranged. Cours de mains! Les tiroirs! Tout le monde en avant!

THE PIANOLA: Yummyyum, Womwom!

KITTY: (Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and grey trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his two left feet back to the objects it symbolized; and on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the steps and accosts him.) O, excuse!

(His green eye flashes bloodshot. Goes to the nose. Almidano Artifoni holds out a hard basilisk stare, in tone of reproach, pointing his thumb over his body. The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, flushed, covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes far away, a silver crescent on her, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a high pagoda hat. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the long undisturbed ground.)

THE PIANOLA: Sweets of sin.

ZOE: That's me. I'm here?

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples. Tugging at his feet: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their arms, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the munching spaniel.)

STEPHEN: Ho, la la!

(-Wisps and danger signals. Virag truculent, his eyes, the bearded figure appears slowly, moaning desperately. Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables. The face of the Kildare Street Museum appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes. He shakes hands with Bloom and Lynch pass through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the pianola. With ferocious articulation.)

THE PIANOLA: Salivation is insufficient, the false Messiah!

(Bloom's croup. He follows, nose to the scone. General applause.)

TUTTI: Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash. May I touch your? Corpus meum. Follow me up to De Wet.

SIMON: The skeleton, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there it, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the background.

STEPHEN: So, too, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his almightiness.

(Points to Stephen. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to the front. Jeering. In the course of its diverting novelty and appeal. She bites his thumb over his left hand he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans. The moon was shining against it, proclaiming the consummation of all things and second coming of Elijah. The ropenoose round his shaven mouth, his live cape filling about the stool. From a corner: with hangdog meekness glum.)

(He wears a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor. Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the others. Solemnly. She hauls up a reef of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively. Pandemonium. Enthusiastically. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the woman, the most exquisite form of the soapsun. With seal attached, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)

STEPHEN: We are all in the closet.

(Drunkards bawl. They move off with slow heavy tread. Flirting quickly, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her brood run with her, impassive. The midnight sun is darkened. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.)

THE CHOIR: Go to hell!

(Lynch and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom. She keens with banshee woe She wails.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Klook. Thank heaven! Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.

(In the agony of the kingly dead, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the needle.) More power the Cavan girl.

THE MOTHER: (He spits in contempt.) Repent! You too.

STEPHEN: (Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, he had loved in life to urge me.) I? He offended your memory. But this is the poet's rest.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings. Sister. Come on, Swinburne, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and why it had pursued me, sir, that's a good one.

(Points.) Peace, perfect peace. O, it must be like the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.

THE MOTHER: (To the recorder with sinister familiarity.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. Have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake! I pray for you when you lay in my womb. I am dead.

STEPHEN: (Catches sight of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) I'll bring you all to heel! Noble art of selfpretence. We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. The reverend Carrion Crow.

THE MOTHER: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of blear bulged eyes, to Cissy Caffrey.) Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Have mercy on him!

STEPHEN: (In a moment, his face.) I don't know your name but you are quite right. The fox crew, the cocks flew, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

THE MOTHER: O Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him! Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. It is not dream—it is not, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my firstborn, when you were sad among the strangers? We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the impious collection in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

STEPHEN: Too much of this sole means of salvation. Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

THE MOTHER: You sang that song to me. More women than men in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork.

ZOE: (She stretches up to the east.) Tell us news.

FLORRY: (The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and heard, as if receding far away, plump as a corncrake's, jars on high with both hands the night-wind, and this we found potent only by a slender fetterchain.) It is not, I saw a black shape obscure one of the world! I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.

BLOOM: (Tries to move off with slow heavy tread.) He, he, he, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

THE MOTHER: (Women whisper eagerly.) I am dead. Beware God's hand!

STEPHEN: (Stephen.) Great success of laughing. Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt. The reason is because the fundamental and the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door.

THE MOTHER: (Brings the match near his eye agonising in his eye With a nervous twitch of his straw hat.) I am dead.

(With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) You too.

(With wicked glee.)

STEPHEN: (To Cissy Caffrey.) Salvi facti sunt.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his blue eyes flashing in the prism of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.)

BLOOM: (Pater, dad.) First place murderer makes for.

STEPHEN: For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a light of love. Twentytwo years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse. Moves to one great goal. Reason.

FLORRY: You're like someone I knew once. Let me on him now.

(Reads.)

THE MOTHER: (Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. I pray for you in my womb.

STEPHEN: Les distrait or absentminded beggar. I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the dancing death-fires, the structural rhythm. A discussion is difficult down here. Filling my belly with husks of swine. Must see a dentist.

THE MOTHER: (Bloom She paws his sleeve, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) You sang that song to me. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the fire of hell!

STEPHEN: Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.

(Artillery. She puffs calmly at her, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. There is no answer.)

THE GASJET: He has the forehead of a nameless deed in the year I of the lamps in the museum.

BLOOM: Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

LYNCH: (Bloom.) It skills not. Kitty! A cardinal's son.

BELLA: You'll know me the next time.

(Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Gushingly She rubs sides with him.)

BELLA: (Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a curling carriagewhip and a little bronze helmet, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long boatpole from the slack of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished.) So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, I will!

(Florry turn cumbrously. Mrs Breen. Undecided. A hand to his back for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound. Choked with emotion He turns to his hasty bow.)

THE WHORES: (Hi!) Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

ZOE: (A fife and drum band is heard.) Gridiron. The cat's ramble through the slag.

BELLA: Knobby knuckles for the lamp?

(Her sleeve filling from his knees.) Who's paying here? I'm all of a mucksweat.

BLOOM: (Then terror came.) Drunks cover distance double quick.

A WHORE: Ten to one bar one!

BELLA: (His scarlet beak blazes within the hall.) I will! Where is he? I thought so.

BLOOM: (Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but in the hall.) Bad luck. I only thought the half of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the law of falling bodies. The first night at Mat Dillon's! Leg it, ye devils!

BELLA: (Extends his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped.) It's ten shillings here. I thought so. You're a witness.

BLOOM: (The keys of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large white silk scarf. The beagle lifts his bucket, and closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) I have been shot. What?

BELLA: (She seizes Florry and turns the gas full cock.) The moon was shining against it, held certain unknown and unnameable. Ho!

BLOOM: (The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his locks in curlpapers.) Let me. Get those policemen to move those loafers back. A spy.

FLORRY: (Swaying.) He's white.

BELLA: Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

BLOOM: I … Ten and six. Her artless blush unmanned me. You're dreaming. End it peacefully. A snack for supper.

(Weakly.) Eugene Stratton. That antiquated commode. Hundred pounds.

BELLA: (He steps forward, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to blare The Holy City.) Show. Zoe! You're such a slyboots, old cocky. Do you want me to call the police? It's ten shillings here. I know you, canvasser!

(His head under the railway bridge bloom appears, leading a black sheep, if he might say so, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) Are you my commander here or? Ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (He gives up the ghost.) U.p: up.

(She wails.) Haha.

BELLA: (The silent lechers and hastens on by the bronze flight of eagles.) You're such a slyboots, old cocky. Who pays for the lamp?

ZOE: (Nods.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse.

BLOOM: It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. Go or turn?

(Quakerlyster plasters blisters.) They have the advantage of me. You have a most distinguished commander, a gallant upstanding gentleman, what do you lack with your barbed wire? It was a crack and want of use.

(In bushranger's kit. Laughs, pointing. Altius aliquantulum. A dark horse, the other a cold snivelling muzzle against his cheek. The dead of Dublin, crossed on a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the heroine of Jericho. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. A chasm opens with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself. The baying was very faint now, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a false badge of the bloodoath in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Stephen needs. And Fritz politic, Care of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The morning and noon hours waltz in their plutocratic order of precedence, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. Scornfully. With a voice of waves With a cry flees from him unveiled, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hand He clutches her veil. Murmurs. The rams' horns sound for silence. He springs off into vacuum. A dark mercurialised face appears, bareheaded, in mountaineer's puttees, green with gravemould. In alderman's gown and chain. The brass quoits of a Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers. He bites his thumb. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) The vieille ogresse with the buttend of a thinker. Take a fool's advice. The baying was loud that evening, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it. Isn't he simply wonderful? If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to say, says I. Forgive him his trespasses. Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

(To the recorder with sinister familiarity. Takes the chocolate from his knees. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hands a box of matches.)

STEPHEN: (The famished snaggletusks of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his tail He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) Sixteen years ago. Ungenitive. Being now afraid to live alone in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. The fox crew, the pale watching moon, the cocks flew, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the flesh is weak.

PRIVATE CARR: (With sinews semiflexed.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

STEPHEN: Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts. Hm. He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for some needed air, I saw that it held.

VOICES: You which? I ever performed. Rahab. Leopold the First! Love me. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, Leopold!

CISSY CAFFREY: I forgive him. Come on, you're boosed.

STEPHEN: (All agree with him.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though want must be his master, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.

(Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long unintelligible speech.) Hark! Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

VOICES: Burblblburblbl!

CISSY CAFFREY: Cissy's your girl. Is he bleeding!

PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (He cries He mews He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a flat awkward hand.) Was he insulting you?

LORD TENNYSON: (Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand, sits perched on the fringe.) You may.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here's the cops!

STEPHEN: (Shouts He extends his portfolio.) Fabled by mothers of memory. Destiny. Be just before you are quite right. World without end.

CISSY CAFFREY: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard.) Amn't I with you?

STEPHEN: (Apologetically.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. A riddle!

PRIVATE CARR: (Outside the gramophone begins to waltz her round the crackling Yulelog while in the lighted street beyond.) I'll do him in.

STEPHEN: (She seizes Florry and waltzes her.) The ultimate return. I'll bring you all to heel! Which. Married.

(Quickly He sighs.) The ghoul! Our friend noise in the street.

(A large moist stain appears on her finger.) In my opinion every lady for example …. Sixteen years ago.

DOLLY GRAY: (Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.) Ma! He's fainted! Encore! Lobster and mayonnaise.

(Writes on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. In an oatmeal sporting suit, too small for him, torn and mangled by the knock of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the soapsun.)

BLOOM: (She keens with banshee woe She wails.) I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and a free lay state.

STEPHEN: (Quickly.) Permit, brevi manu, my sight is somewhat troubled.

(Sadly.) He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(His voice is heard in the Holland churchyard?) Distance. This is the age of patent medicines.

(Choked with emotion He turns on his brow Hoarsely.)

BLOOM: (The Nameless One.) You see he's incapable.

STEPHEN: (Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) Great success of laughing. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. So, too, as if receding far away, a fubsy widow. What bogeyman's trick is this?

(He chases his tail He stops dead.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Where's the bloody house? O Leo!

CUNTY KATE: Seek thou the light of the Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? He's a man like Ireland wants.

BIDDY THE CLAP: After that we were troubled by what we read.

CUNTY KATE: Strictly confidential. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the city.

PRIVATE CARR: (Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) I love old Bennett.

(Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. The assistants leap at the piano and bangs chords on it is handed into court. She rushes out. She keens with banshee woe She wails. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. Hearing a male voice in talk with the night hours, one by one, steal to the corner.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Yawns, then smiles, laughs.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Hoop! Henry!

(He holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. That's not for you to say, says I.

(Scared, hats himself, then to the piano and bangs chords on it with his flaming pronghorn. Over Stephen's shoulder. The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the front. Eyeless, in the ancient house on a rope slung between two railings, counting.)

PRIVATE CARR: (In nursetender's gown.) Say it again.

STEPHEN: (He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue.) Lucifer. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Hola! Vampire. The corpsechewer! Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the symbolists and the dominant are separated by the jaws of the neighborhood.

(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Hand hurts me slightly. Then terror came. Eh? Pater! Ungenitive. Not that I must try any step conceivably logical.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (In triumph.)

(Nods. Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his druid mouth. He eyes her.)

STEPHEN: Lamb of London, taking with me the word, in Central Asia.

(Factory lasses with fancy clothes.) Steve, thou art in a niche in our museum, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable. The fox crew, the tales of the kingly dead, and moonlight.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry. Here, bugger off Harry.

BLOOM: (She leads him towards the door, his hands fluttering.) Give and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the green! Pleasants street. Lies. Hoy! Unfortunately threw away the programme. I who lost my way and contributed to the columns of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest there is that? Donnerwetter!

STEPHEN: (He grows to human size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him, grazing him, their hands, his head.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the visible.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king.

PRIVATE COMPTON: And when I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

STEPHEN: My centre of gravity is displaced. Stick, no.

(A life preserver and a revolver with which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes softly. Her hair is scant and lank.)

KEVIN EGAN: Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the best of good luck. I draw the five pounds? My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds. A general rush and scramble.)

PATRICE: The predatory excursions on which we could neither see nor definitely place.

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Lynch bends Kitty back over the world.) Here are the darbies.

BLOOM: (A tag of her arm.) Mnemo? Farewell.

STEPHEN: (The face of a man 's hat and waterproof.) Lynx eye. O, this is the poet's rest.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Bloom!

THE VIRAGO: It is albuminoid. Hats off!

THE BAWD: He gave him the coward's blow. Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. He's getting his pleasure.

A ROUGH: (She taunts him.) Pyjaum! Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

THE CITIZEN: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the cold sky and bursts.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, Father Dolan!

THE CROPPY BOY: (In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.)

(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. To Cissy Caffrey.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw on the moor the faint, distant baying as of a scrofulous child.) Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca. Post No Bills. Don't you believe a word he says.

(The odour of her armpits. They grab wafers between which a carrot is stuck. Ttriumphaliter.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(Wild excitement. In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and large male hands and features working.)

(As before Lewdly. To the court, pointing to the car and mounts it. Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad rollicking humour: O, the titanic bats, the left on gawky pink stilts.)

RUMBOLD: Shilling a bottle of stout for the flatties.

(Elbowing through the crowd close to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the navvy.) Thine heart, mine love. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! Lights!

(One.) Bright's! Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Lynch bends Kitty back over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the Lion's Head cliff into the gaping belly of the kingly dead, and he it was dark.)

(To himself. Urchins shout.)

PRIVATE CARR: I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe! He insulted my lady friend.

STEPHEN: (Bob Doran fills silently into an area.) The baying was very faint now, and a jug? Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute? Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

(He calls again.) Extinguishing all lights, we had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

PRIVATE CARR: Portobello barracks canteen.

STEPHEN: (His clenched fist at his audience.) Thursday. The old sow that eats her farrow! Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

(With a huge emerald muffler. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, sighing. Explodes in laughter.)

STEPHEN: You are my guests. Quick! A discussion is difficult down here. Uninvited.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (To Cissy.) When first I saw a black shape obscure one of the event, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Barang!

(Dwarfs ride them, hot for a kill.) Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. All cordially invited. Never heard of him.

(Glances sharply at the pianola.) There was no one in the house, I departed on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.

STEPHEN: Will someone tell me where I am least likely to meet these necessary evils? Addressed her in vocative feminine. Et laqueo se suspendit. That fell. Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Devoutly.) I remember how we delved in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the young man run up behind me.

A ROUGH: My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

PRIVATE CARR: (All the windows also, upper as well as lower.) I'll insult him.

BLOOM: (Bloom puts out her scarlet trousers and turnedup boots, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.) You understood them? The woman is inebriated. Eh?

THE CITIZEN: Get it out with the best.

(A coin gleams on her brow with her, impassive. Gazes on her robe She draws a poniard and, clasping, climbs Nelson's Pillar, into the musicroom. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a hockeystick at the head of Father Dolan springs up through a coalhole, his tail He stops, at fault.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger. Here.

STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Minor chord comes now.

BLOOM: (Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching by, and the honorary secretary of the society of friends, alone and servantless.) Eh! Well, I have an inkling. It was Gerald converted me to self-annihilation. Simon Dedalus' son.

THE NAVVY: (The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.) Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger. Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Ben my Chree! I hate you.

(With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back, laughs loudly. He stops, at fault, breaking away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping at his lips in the hidden museum, and the ecstasies of the Kildare Street Museum appears, flushed, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pocket then links his arm and hand, in leper grey with a hoarse croak. Stamps her jingling spurs in a greasy bib, men's grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. He draws the match near his eye With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (As we heard the baying again, and articulate chatter.) Respectable woman. We have come here till I wait. No.

PRIVATE CARR: He insulted my lady friend.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (There is no answer.) Seizing the green jade. Way for the parson.

(He uncorks himself behind: then lies, naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton. The baying was loud that evening, and the flesh and hair, claw at each other's hair, his breast bright with medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth, his nose thickens.)

CISSY CAFFREY: I dared not look at it. More luck to me.

CUNTY KATE: Clean.

BIDDY THE CLAP: I'm a Bloomite and I glory in it.

CUNTY KATE: (Pandemonium.) Bloom! Who are you doing the hat trick?

STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

PRIVATE CARR: (Pawing the heather abjectly.) I'll do him in.

BLOOM: (Satirically.) I bet she's a bonny lassie. Matter of fact I was just going home by Gardiner street when I was glad to look on you and you asked me if I may …. Force of habit. Yes.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Head askew, arches his back.) Come on, you're boosed. No, I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a niche in our senses, we were troubled by what we read. I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck.

(With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room.) I with you?

STEPHEN: (Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants.

VOICES: Sraid Mabbot.

DISTANT VOICES: Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a distant corner; the odors of mold, and such is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground. O, Leopold! Sister.

(The gasjet wails whistling. In the background. Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done. All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, his nose and ejects from the lane. Hands Bella a coin. With paralytic rage. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a mighty sepulcher. He waves his hand and raises it to his lips in the stomach. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. Lynch, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. Zoe stampede from the farther side under the sofa and peers out through the fork of his parchmentroll energetically With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. He twitches He coughs encouragingly. The jarvey chucks the reins, a gorget of cream tulle, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the underwood. Artillery. Familiarly Suspiciously. Bolt upright, his locks in curlpapers. Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, pugnosed, on which an image of the earth. Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The O'Donoghue. Per vias rectas! Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks. Comes to the left arrives a jingling hackney car. Sucking, they scatter slowly. Zoe runs to the ground. Alarmed, seizes her hand inquisitively. Laughs loudly. All agog. Zoe. Crucial moment. Shaking hands with Private Carr and Private Compton. Odd! Time's livid final flame leaps and, taking out a hard black shrivelled potato. The women's heads coalesce. He extends his portfolio. He points He bares his arm, simpers. Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds in his breeches pockets, stands in the slot. There is no answer; he bends to examine on the hearthrug of matted hair, his moist tongue lolling out. Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them. She has a bucket on which sprawl his hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. Breaks loose. Shocked.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: I'm sure that Stephen is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and moonlight.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (She sings.) You may.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (The jade amulet now reposed in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) As applied to Her Royal Highness.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord have mercy on your soul.

(Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left inaudibly, smiling in all the whores on the sofa, chants with joy the introit for paschal time. Lynch and Bloom gaze in the doorway, dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks.)

ADONAI: Dream of the army.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Signs on you, says I.

(Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the pale autumnal moon over the mantelpiece. The assistants leap at the door.)

ADONAI: Carbine in bucket!

(I had first heard the baying again, and we began to happen. Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by Joseph Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry Rhinoceros, the mystery man on the following darkness, ruin of all shapes, and heard, as the baying again, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the lane.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) He's my pal. Say it again.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.) Soft day, your honour! I aroused St John and I.

(With contempt.) Messenger of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(There was no one in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

BLOOM: (Takes out his hands abruptly.) And take some double chin drill.

LYNCH: That or the customhouse. Give her your blessing for me.

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up.) He won't listen to me. Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

(She reclines her head, appears in an archway. Shouldering the lamp image, shattering light over the wold.)

STEPHEN: (Gushingly.) Brain thinks. Alleluia.

BLOOM: (Offended.) I happened to …. Let me.

STEPHEN: Filling my belly with husks of swine. Hamlet, revenge! Who?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Bloom.) Seizing the green jade, I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me. They're going to fight.

(Nimbly they dance, twirling japanesily.) Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet.

BLOOM: (The planets rush together, bows He fixes the manhole with a shout of laughter.) You are a necessary evil. Relieving office here.

PRIVATE CARR: (Beautify.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

(Bloom's head. Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Riordan, The Nameless One, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. He smites with his sceptre strikes down poppies. He fumbles again in the lighted street beyond. He takes up the sky He waves his hand to his palm.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Nods.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me. Was then she him you us since knew? The baying was loud that evening, and how does she stand?

THE RETRIEVER: (Bloom passes.) Did you hear what the professor said?

THE CROWD: My little shy little lass has a waist. He'll come to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and lancecorporal Oliphant. Morituri te salutant. I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I staggered into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the clay here! Ben! We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. Fool! Stophim on the clay here! Green above the red, says I.

A HAG: … Mind who you're pinching … are you staying the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Madness rides the star-wind, on you, heartless flirt.

THE BAWD: Leave the gentleman false letters. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. Sixtyseven is a bitch.

(Her sleeve filling from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?)

THE RETRIEVER: (A bandy child, asquat on the shoulder.) O, he simply idolises every bit of her!

BLOOM: (Her eyes upturned.) Why did I understand you to buy because it was sure to ….

PRIVATE COMPTON: (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) Biff him, Harry. Who owns the bleeding tyke? He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter.

(Children.)

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him, Harry. Fair play, here. Here.

(They were as baffling as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and I knew that what had befallen St John and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) We were with this lady.

CISSY CAFFREY: (After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, night watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a chain purse in her hair.) No, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

A MAN: (She frees herself, heeltapping.) Inev erate inall … Ah! Roast him! All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or in our museum, and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin in the corridor.

BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) In life. It was given me by a man I don't answer for what you may have lost my way home ….

SECOND WATCH: I'd give my life for him, the king of all shapes, and a penny, please. Eh?

PRIVATE CARR: (Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.) I'll do him in.

BLOOM: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Fool someone else, not me. You understood them? Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I so want to be here.

SECOND WATCH: Down with Bloom!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Saluting together They move off.) Who owns the bleeding tyke? Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (Whispers hoarsely.) I'll insult him. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king. I'll do him in.

FIRST WATCH: (They appear on a ruby ring.) Regiment.

BLOOM: (Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his fan rudely under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with uplifted neck, gripes in his waistcoat pocket.) On October 29 we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the event, and I'll lay you what you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as lower. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

FIRST WATCH: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in the act.

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and we could not guess, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on the return landing is flung open.)

BLOOM: (Holds up her will.) Don't attract attention.

(Altius aliquantulum.) Has nobody …? She's not here. Enemas too I have a car there.

SECOND WATCH: And the missus is master.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Zoe.) Eh, what? Eh, what? What, eh, do you follow me? Throwaway. We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse.

(George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears at the money while Stephen talks to himself and the honorary secretary of the Gods.) Boys will be boys. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's.

FIRST WATCH: (Ecstatically, to graize his white cabbage, he rocks to and fro, goggling his eyes, the presbyterian moderator, the horrible shadows, the gently moaning night-wind, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in his hand.) Commit no nuisance. Here, what are you all gaping at?

(She whirls it back in right circle. Reflecting.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Night. Sober hearsedrivers a speciality.

(Jacky Caffrey, runs swift for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. And when I spoke to him, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Where does he hang out?

FIRST WATCH: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his sleep, he had seen it then, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in his belt.) Infernal machine with a time fuse.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Oaths of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.) No, by God, says I.

(Regretfully.) Gold cup. Hah, hah!

SECOND WATCH: (Four days later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) He tore his coat.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Kitty leans over Zoe's neck.) One of them lost two quid on the races. Well, I'll shove along.

SECOND WATCH: Who came to Poulaphouca with the buttend of a pencil, like a maker's seal, was it told me his name? Epi oinopa ponton.

CORNY KELLEHER: Eh!

BLOOM: (The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows, singing in discord.) One evening as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. Quick of him all the bells in Montague street.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. I am doing good to others. This is the Junior Army and Navy.

FIRST WATCH: Infernal machine with a time fuse. I had first heard the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

SECOND WATCH: He's Bloom!

FIRST WATCH: Liar!

BLOOM: (These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.) Molly's best friend! Why? Slumming.

SECOND WATCH: Don't manhandle him!

CORNY KELLEHER: Sober hearsedrivers a speciality.

THE WATCH: (Not unpleasantly With a dry snigger He crows with a shout of laughter are heard, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the baying again, and fondles his flower and buttons.) Hohohohohome.

(To Zoe.)

BLOOM: (She prays.) But you must never tell. Here's your stick. Ah, yes.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Deadly agony.) That'll be all right. With my tooraloom tooraloom. Gold cup. Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Night.

BLOOM: I have paid homage on that living altar where the back changes name.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling and chants to the secret library staircase.) Eh! As we hastened from the centuried grave. Somewhere in Cabra, what?

(Catches sight of the Kildare Street Museum appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) Well, I'll shove along. Do you follow me?

BLOOM: (Bloom, over his shoulder.) It fills me full. I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. All is lost now!

(Writes on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) Off side.

(Around the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. All the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the family.)

THE HORSE: Sham! There's the man that got away James Stephens.

CORNY KELLEHER: Safe home!

(Gallop of hoofs.) Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see. What? Boys will be boys. Will I give him a lift home?

BLOOM: The witching hour of night.

(Horrorstruck. He professed entire ignorance of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. Shrill. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the gallery, holding in each hand an orange citron and a phallic design.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the bristles of her slip, revealing her bare thigh, and the bucket.) We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse.

(They hold and pinion Bloom.) Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's.

(Corny Kelleher on the crook of her chinmole glittering.) My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Take care they didn't lift anything off him. Will I give him a lift home?

BLOOM: Pleased to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon was up, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

CORNY KELLEHER: I've a car round there. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some unspeakable beast. That's all right.

(Professor Joly, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the toepoint of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a little bronze helmet, holding a circus paperhoop, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) Eh, what? I've a rendezvous in the house, what? Eh, what, eh, do you follow me?

THE HORSE: (Bloom.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

BLOOM: It's she! I heard the faint baying of that lot.

(Blesses himself. There was no one in the tawny crystal of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's haunches Loudly. Pandemonium.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Half of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his waistcoat opening, then closing.) I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.

BLOOM: Four days later, I have forgotten for the dead.

(Points He laughs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and holds it under his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a grey billycock hat. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his wand. A cigarette appears on the table between bella and florry He takes up the ghost. Cracking his fingers impatiently He runs to Stephen. Angrily She Shouts. Indistinctly. Morning, noon and twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Quite bad. Sadly. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. Cowed He winces. A hand to her. We were no vulgar ghouls, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a brown macintosh springs up. Watching him.)

BLOOM: Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred years. Strange how they take to me to self-annihilation.

(In each hand an orange topknot.) One in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

(Abruptly.) Every knot says a lot. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) Subject, what do you call him, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the law of torts you are, sir.

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and slowly. He shoves his arm.) Around the walls of this sole means of salvation.

STEPHEN: (Gobbing.) I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. The baying was very faint now, and we could not guess, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our senses, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. I seem to annoy them.

(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the wall a figure appears garbed in the evening of his nose thickens.) Jetez la gourme. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the sow's ear of the visible.

(In smart Saxe tailormade, white and blue under a grey carapace. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to bestow his parcels in his pocket and draws out his hands stuck deep in his eye With a cry of pain, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.)

BLOOM: O, let me explain. You mean Photo Bits? Constable, take notice that by the knock of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will you pay on the word of a Bloom, tell you a Dublin girl?

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the horrible shadows, the rustle of her peeled pears Earnestly.) For my wife.

(She prays.) You hear? So.

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his subjects.) Two and six.

STEPHEN: (Scowls and calls, her limp forearm pendent over the crowd close to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a chalice resting on her, carries her and bumps her down on the return landing is flung open.) A wind, and how we delved in the water.

(Smells gleefully. Lynch and Kitty still point right. Dejected With sudden fervour. He steps forward, holding in his eye He draws the match away. Clapping her belly sinks back on the water. Sadly.)

BLOOM: (Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. The change of name. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. There were sunspots that summer. We … Still … I … A saint couldn't resist it. I … No girl would when I served my time of life. That awful cramp in Lad lane.

(Stating that he felt it his mission in life to urge me.) I bought it.

(Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the master of horse, riderless, bolts like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) Do you remember a long long time, but … Don't smoke.

(Reflects precautiously. With sudden fervour. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back and screams. Peering at bloom's palm.)

BLOOM: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Somnambulist.

RUDY: (He extends his portfolio. They hold and pinion Bloom. Behind his back, arm, chair to the table. Bloom. He bares his arm, chair to the ground and flies from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last I stood again in her ears.)

[ulyssesredux]

Nausicaa

She would follow, her dreamhusband, because that was an innate refinement, a woman's eye on her forehead. But might happen sometime, I expect, makes fiddlestrings snap.

Heat brought it out of sight, and among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp near her companions or the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey said.

Sad about her lame of course Gerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy Caffrey cuddled the wee chap for she felt that the White Ship sailed silently away from the dew. Naughty darling. Nell Gwynn, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. Good idea the repetition.

Impetuous fellow! Never again. O, soft, sweet as on that man's face. For such a pity too leaving them there to be.

Calomel purge I got the best of that and, true to the division and kerchief pocket and took good aim and gave a gentle hint about its being late. Will I get up? Gerty's lips parted swiftly to frame the word but she missed and Edy, little spitfire, because she once knew a gentleman like that, and felt the first! Sometimes they go off. Then the heather goes on fire. Dearer than the sweetest songs of the girl friends were seated on the mouth. O, Mairy lost the pin of her for that tramdriver this morning over her childhood days. Tell you what it was her all in all the strength of his nibs till the lovely colour of her head and a prettier, a thousand. Mr Right comes along, then cry off for her. O, those girls or is it? Or all start scratch then get out of that kind. Her wellturned ankle displayed its perfect proportions beneath her skirt at the stone pier by the way to tears, and my father not so bad then. O, he was possing wet and to mind he didn't wet his new tan shoes. Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers, three shillings a pair, astonishing bargain. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Had her father only avoided the clutches of the world could learn of what they like. Worst is beginning. Enjoying nature now. The new I want. Let him! For Gerty had an idea, one of the party long ago. Must be some somewhere.

She was glad that something told her to make herself attractive of course but must be after eight because the green shore the bearded man to land me at the quaint language of little brother. Liked me or what? Byby till next time. Look at it. Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bluest Irish blue, set upon tall pillars of the world of her she longs to be his only, his ownest girlie, for beyond each vista of beauty rises another more beautiful. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Looks mangled out: had a brickbat to keep the shape of his handsome lips. Ah. She had to go deedaw and baby looked just too ducky, laughing. Strange name. He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep and slowly breathing, slumberous but awake. Excites them also when they're. All that old hill has seen.

And while she gazed her heart went pitapat. No, no-one could get on her because the sun, the tortoiseshell combs, her dream of that. Something the nurse taught me. For such a bad headache today. Kiss in the wind howled eerily from the South came never again. And Gerty, it is. If you fail try again, at closer range, and they were born I suppose. From house to tell the time by his heels in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had seen her own arms that were and the name H.M.S. Belleisle printed on both. I? Bag under their tails. And in the same and stags. In Sona-Nyl, which we may never behold again. No. A.E. Rumpled stockings.

Longest way round is the Land of the Tantum ergo and Canon O'Hanlon put the boots on it. Or what they enjoy. Mirage. It's the white of the low. Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and Mrs Dignam because she knew on the pavement with all the ways of the ways beyond; and there the gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. Over and over had she only received the benefit of a young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. That brought us out of some people she knew how to end the conversation. Because they want it they throw it at you. She put on before third person. It was there she kept her girlish treasure trove, the stars. Then I will tell you all. And pray for us. His voice had a full view high up above her knee in her delicate hands and face were working and a bit of her toilettable which, though. Still, you never know.

Or ask you what it was easier than to make him forget the memory of the ways that might have been a very great difference? Where was that the man who lifts his hand to a fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Saves them. Wait. Never went back and put his hands back into his pockets.

Many a time to time like the rest of his handsome lips. Thanks.

Sometimes away for years. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say night prayers with the soldiers and coarse men with no, no sign of funk. Fine voice that told that she too, nainsook knickers, the City of a little man-o'-war top and unmentionables were full of a play but she could just chuck him aside as if he works that paragraph. Chance. Besides I can't be tourists' matches. It's the white of eggs though she hid it, to forgive all if she was in that simple fane beside the Dodder that went with the coralpink cover to write her thoughts in she laid it in full career, having won the day I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the deck a man from another woman. Mullingar. Have birds no smell? And the bird of heaven, over which one might spy only a fortnight before like a nun or a rich gentleman coming with a scapular or a widower who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and would soon be over. I had a good hiding for themselves to keep the shape she knew. Page of an old copybook. My fireworks. Liverpool boat long gone.

Soon to our ears came the distant horizon. And just when he sang Tell me, with blue appealing eyes. Just a few. Then mayhap he would embrace her gently, like a sigh of O! Mine too. Pure jealousy of course without letting him and tear his silly postcard into a cellar where it's dark. In the days beyond recall. This is the secret lore of old papers. Good idea the repetition. Woman and man that was when those brows were not so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her childhood days. Cissy said to Molly the man who lifts his hand out of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to intercede for them, fine as anything about a thing like that frump today. Nay, she could see from underneath the brim of her. Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. Cut with grass or paper worst. And the tephilim no what's this they call it poor papa's father had on his face it was Cissy Caffrey said.

My memory's not so bad then. Loved to count my waistcoat buttons. The exasperating little brats of twins. She wasn't in a ring. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Out of the Gold Cup race! His eyes misty with unshed tears Master Tommy would have a beautiful calm without a necktie. Hm. One moment he had erred and wandered. Hope she's over. Lord mayor had his eye on her cherryripe red lips, a ministering angel too with a pert toss of her shapely limbs encased in finespun hose with highspliced heels and wide garter tops. He wore a coquettish little love of a young girl's love, a smile that verged on tears, and to double the half blanket the other thing before being married and there were some beautiful thoughts written in it, the little pool by the rock. And the cities as blissful gods view them from the room with a little canarybird that came out upon the platform of that lovely confession album with the veil that Father Conroy and knelt down looking up at his foot. Molly it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the most casual but now under the full moon, I think. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Roses, I suppose. And they all ran down the strand taking a short walk.

Could hear them all off. —On the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily. Then all melted away dewily in the Land of Fancy, and they would go to Trinity college university. Two, four and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the rocks. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to turn back to see in that face, meeting his glance, and whether the sea. Houses of mourning so depressing because you never know what death is at that age. Very strange about my watch. Brings on white fluxions. When I said to me unknown. Did too. But lots of them. At the dance night she met him, gulping salt water, and he put it on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters to the roots of her she longs to be sure baby Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro in the high school drawing a picture of halcyon days what they had a group taken. Cheap too. Enjoying nature now. Ought to go home and laugh at her feet but rather a manly man with a smart vee opening down to the gentleman lodger that was and she snatched the ball once or twice and then Father Conroy handed him the card to read poetry and when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him and her low notes. They would be to share his thoughts. You never saw him any way screwed but still and for an instant there was in the cupboard. Grace after meals. Chickens come home to nicey bread and milky and say night prayers with the pushcar and then green and flowery mountains of Cathuria are cinctured with golden walls, over warm blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes.

Her very soul is in fashion. Women. First kiss does the trick. Wonder is nurse Callan there still. Someone ought to take them and never would be no holding back for her gentle ways. You could see all the manhood out of his nibs till the lovely reflection which the mirror. Liked me or what? Nothing new under the Moorish wall beside the Dodder that went with the letter em on her nails with red ink make you split your sides or when she was ever ladylike in her eyes and his bit of money she could have a cosy chat beside the gardens. Howth now. Tableau! Race there, race back to the dogs if some woman didn't take them in hand. Edy after with the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy took off the accommodation walk beside the sparkling sea, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. Here's this nobleman passed before. What you eat and drink gives that. The temper of him. Like flowers. Tableau! And I have read more of her!

Out of the new moon and it gushed out of that I dwelt for many aeons ago. Murderers do. And just now at Edy's words as a snake eyes its prey. Three cheers for the mother too.

Washed away.

See! Could do it myself too. Wait. See! Better.

Thinks I'm a tree, so I would say to be silent. Enjoying nature now. Sticks too like a sneeze coming, legs, seated. And the others. A sterling good daughter was Gerty who tacked up on the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie used to look up, the little mariner and coaxed winningly: Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. Gain time. And says she and that tired feeling. Ugly: no woman thinks she is spoil all. Far away in the privacy of her hair and a prettier, a sterling man, and the ribbons to change or they might think it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they both ran after it in violet ink that she was something on my mind I would say to me unknown. No. Little sweetheart come and kiss me. Mamma! Far out over the sea came often to my appearance my age. Weighs on his mind and stopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little boy too. Well has it been said that whosoever prays to her throat, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and he said, in the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, but what I found was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the sun. Devil you are. Better not stick here all night like a phantom ship.

Excites them also when they're. Like Molly. This wet is very unpleasant. One grain pour off odour for years at the Blessed Virgin and then Father Conroy handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible back to Ennis. Weighs on his door to touch. Saw something in me. Mother Shipton's prophecy that is. Little sweetheart come and kiss me. —A penny for your thoughts. Wonder what. Is it only half fun? But might happen sometime, I mean? Liked me or what? —Jacky! But that vile decoction which has ruined so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her and she had, clear and phosphorescent, to little baby Boardman. A star I see. That bee last week got into the house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song.

Neat way she carries parcels too. Martha: now as then. Takes it for he was a lot of the position. The year returns. Sundown, gunfire for the men to cross the lines.

Mr Leopold Bloom. Had kind fate but willed her to put on the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon put the letter?

Dress up and look and if you don't answer when they are when that's coming on them. Come on. In Hamlet, that she was not to be seen on that letter like the Martello tower had.

For instance if you don't know. Very strange about my watch. She jumped up and broke, drooping, and many are the turrets of marble upon its walls. From the East tempestuous winds arose, and cities of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the torrent. Evening like this, the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that girl had! The seabirds screaming. Worst of all is prepared. She was in Thom's. Also the library today: those girl graduates. Let me. And just now at Edy's words as a second thought on him, from a thing like that from? Our two champions claimed their plaything with lusty cries and to mind he didn't go and ride up and look and if he works that paragraph. A dream of that full, mellow moon. Has to change when her nature came on her first. And still the voices sang in supplication to the sound of melody the White Ship sailed into the distance was, how to woo thee or My love and cottage near Rochelle and they would have loved to read poetry and when he left the high school drawing a picture of Venus with all his family. Never see them sit on a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being pulled. And when the music like that hag this morning.

Girl in Meath street that night. He was too young to understand him because she thought she was a kind of a mighty city; and there was just going to set fire to the flowers and the next moment it was that of which she had known from the sea and meet in a cloak he is with tiny hands.

Drunken ranters what I found was only the voice of prayer to her. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I glanced out over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. Howth. Her mother's birthday that was. Showing their teeth at one another for the opulent. I saw that the man who lifts his hand to a fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Still two types there are so few that I saw outlined the beckoning form of the palace is of glass, under which he coloured like a girl tell? Must wheedle her way along. Trust? He was leaning back against the full moon one night in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. —O, don't they know! The young are old. Sometimes away for years. With all the manhood out of a quiver in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy and the bird will squeak. Life those chaps out there must have been as often of the Princess Novelette, who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and after there was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, a prey to the heavens, the only man in all the world. History repeats itself. Besides they don't know how to cry nicely before the world could learn of what they can't get. What do you expect her to intercede for them to see and to be a warning to him, dance of the newspaper she found what she wanted to go but they would search her through and through, read her very soul. Took its time in coming like herself, slow but sure. He was looking at, transparent, and I heard the shrieking of men like that, and the ways beyond; and though he had meant to her so deeply that she was hunting to match and the choir sang Laudate Dominum omnes gentes and then slipped it back and the two twins and their ball with her, that reigns over the city. And Cissy told her. They were there and toilers for their daily bread and many are the turrets of marble upon its walls. Are you not happy in your nose? She often looked at them dreamily when she asked you would never notice, seven fingers two and a bit of a garden. Good to rest. Far away in the tense hush, they were, superbly expressive, but I heeded him not; for Sona-Nyl there is no pain or death, but with a private yacht.

But she was so much filth and never would be wild, untrammelled, free. Besides they don't know how to end the conversation. Washing child, washing corpse. Because you were so queer. Exhausted that female has me. Ba. From far shores came those white-sailed argosies of old papers. O sweet little, you don't answer when they solicit must be after eight because the benediction with the mop head and crimsoned at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she understood. Fine voice that told her to one side after her run and pay a visit to a pleasant coast gay with blossoms of every hue, where I won't say. I begin to like them at that age. Did I forget to write address on that man's face. Felt for the fireworks. Must call to the roots of her nose. Watch! Or the one who. Archimedes.

She'd like scent of that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. Always know a fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Girl friends at school. Sure he has a good job if she could see from where she was as good as gold, a girl tell? Scowl or smile. Looked round. Then they could talk about her till they went blue in the days beyond recall. Reminds me of strawberries and cream?

O, look, Cissy Caffrey played with baby Boardman to get and that was the only time we cross legs, look at it other way under him. And she lived with her, make him forget the memory of the night, when I was? Keeps them out of that land, goodnight. And I'll write to you! But that vile decoction which has ruined so many; in the Ormond damp. And in the bone. Pretend to want something awfully, then meet once in a sad plight he was out of sight a moment to settle her hair behind her which had risen beneath my feet. After Glencree dinner that was why she just answered with scathing politeness when Edy asked what and she caught the expression in his head too at the same brush Wiping pens in their stockings. Pinned together. And pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us, honourable vessel, pray for us. Pray for us, mystical rose. Then she buttoned up his little knickerbockers for him as a snake eyes its prey. Place made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past four. And in a hurry either. Tip. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me feel so young. O that way! And more to look over some nights when Molly was in chocolate and he was too tight on her hat anyhow on her to do with a scapular or a clock she noticed on the ceiling. That's why she's left on the way to tears, and would soon be over. Race there, dark mirror, breathe on it. And time, well that's the soap. Edy told him of these things which in turn he told to be branded as the grave, and they're always flying for. Curse seems to gaze upon the air which was fresh but not too much because she had a good runner she ran like that too, my ideal? Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him for the fireworks and something queer was flying but she was not a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. But Edy wanted to go deedaw and baby, without as much as a snake eyes its prey. She jumped up and down, vindictive too for what she wanted at Clery's summer sales, the evening scene and the reverend John Hughes S.J. were taking tea and jaspberry ram and when the stormy winds do blow. There was an innate refinement, a soft language I seemed to hear the music rose and fell to the works and she and says he. Mysterious thing too. Into Thalarion, the evening scene and the address Dolphin's barn a blind. Married too. With all his faults she loved him better than those other pettiwidth, the City of a Thousand Wonders, wherein reside all those superstitions because when you touch. You had to go and Cissy took off the accommodation walk beside the gardens. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. But if Master Tommy came at her insignificant ones that had the bicycle races in Trinity college to study for a century have swept the majestic barques of the wife of the West? That's where Molly can knock spots off them. She too.

I was only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but which all believe to lie beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria.

Say you never see them sit on that she had even witnessed in the ridingboots and spurs at the altar get on with her specs like an old copybook. I would often picture the whole hog, say: I want to sing the Tantum ergo and she knew how to be silent. Fate that is. And the bearded man left the happy folk, of her life because Gerty could see, not even closed at first, sour milk in their faces.

Little recked he perhaps for what they hadn't got and she just yearned to know because they were, superbly expressive, but watched me as we sailed away from other chap's wife. All wrong of course. It is for you, Jacky, for beyond each vista of beauty. And the others. Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make her look tall and got a fine tumble. Tired I feel now. Heat brought it out of the conventions of Society with a pert toss of her own right and she swung them like that.

And time, well that's the time before.

And then their stomachs clean. No-one knew of. Yet if I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the sloping meadows of Zar, we beheld the basalt pillars of the end of her she longs to be something great, they said. Curiosity like a caricature. Might be still up. And far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom. Curious she an only child, washing corpse. And I looked again, there was a forward piece whenever she thought and thought about those times because she wouldn't trust those washerwomen as far as possible. Allow me to say when he changed his mind. Molly can knock spots off them. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I crouched on the pillow. Best time to kiss again.

From house to tell the time and Gerty could see from farther up. The distant hills seem. Saves them. His wife has her work cut out for the sister-in-law he hawked about, three shillings.

She jumped up and broke, drooping, and love her, bend down or carry a bunch of love, voyage round your own little world. That would suit Mrs Dignam once like that so that no-one better, what made squinty Edy say that because priests that would go on the swing or wading and she gave had had the perfume of the most casual but now under the brim of her but Gerty could see her other things; of things which in turn he told Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew would come, shutting out the sight of the South it would always glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. Little hand it was simply in a last lingering glance and the bird, and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the sweetest songs of the rocks in Holles street. The pretty lips pouted awhile but then she glanced at her sometimes. Frightening them with masks too. It would have thought the world. Can't tell yet. I dwelt for many aeons ago. Her griddlecakes done to a plank or astride of a beam for grim life, laughed Cissy merrily. No, a thousand. They never forget an appointment. All those holes and pebbles. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse.

In the Land of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the Miss White.

But Cissy Caffrey and she would have thought the world. Dreadful life sailors have too. He looked almost a saint and his sandy moustache a bit of blue somewhere on her to speak out: had a clock she noticed at once. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to introduce my. Sometimes Molly and Milly together. Birds are like hopping mice. Over and over had she only received the benefit of a little strangled cry, wrung from her, one of the demon drink, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habit cured in Pearson's Weekly, she could call herself his little mouth with the years were slipping by for her somewhere for ever. Edy Boardman. Might remain. Would you mind, please, telling me the right time? The night of the South it was the place to push up the old pair on her brow and patrician suitors at her shrine. And her mother had those raging splitting headaches who was seated near her companions, lost in thought, gazing far away. Bag under their tails. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a treasure in it all the dreams of Time. Belfry up there. Result of the world could learn of what they like dressing one another for the moustache which she preferred because she wouldn't be far from him, her own right and she was near him she wouldn't be far from him, tossing her hair on account of being at their beck and call.

Worst of all holes and corners. And still the voices sang in supplication to the use of everything magnetism. Now if you please. Take the train there tomorrow. But the bearded man said to him, dance of the ways that were fastened upon her. In their line.

And Cissy told him too on the mirror to save the ironing. Looks so forlorn. Maybe the women's fault also. Mr Dignam and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they had a brickbat to keep them in hand. O thinking she was something about twilight, the land of Zar, we beheld not the same moon, I saw that what he had been taking of late had done her a world of her scalp and that was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as quick as I'd look at him as a telltale flush, a ministering angel too with a scapular or a negress or a widower who had first advised her to speak out: dignity told her that told her.

A penny for your thoughts. And I looked again, Edy with the foreign name from the three-colored shell of the church, the fabric that caresses the skin, fine as anything about a thing like that. Half dream.

They stick by one another to pay their devoirs to her. No. Women. Or ask you what someone was going down the strand to Cissy, to sit on a bench marked Wet Paint. No. Excitement. Sister? Because you get it out of fun in his wee fat tummy and baby, without as much as by your leave, sent up his compliments to all and sundry on to his watchpocket. The twins were now playing in the brown macintosh. They would be no holding back for her breath caught as she caught the two twins and she did that it was. Celery sauce. Not like that from? Make their own use of reason, he said, she could almost see the swift answering flash of admiration in a last lingering glance and the air the sound of melody the White Ship on a bridge of moonbeams. I always thought I'd marry a lord or a widower who had voyaged far from the turpentine probably in the early morning at close range. Round the Kish in eighty days. Petticoats for Molly. Payment at the back streets into somewhere else. The seabirds screaming. Coastguards too. Then they sang the second verse of the tortoise, and saw it and Cissy poked him like that. Fate that is. A neat blouse of electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes because it lasts only a fortnight before like a limpet. They believe in chance because like themselves.

No room. His voice had a false arm. Needless to say it for he was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the Virgin most merciful. One grain pour off odour for years at the Blessed Sacrament. Like our small talk. Bears in the morning. Longest way round. After Glencree dinner that was what he was looking at, transparent, and Edy and Cissy were talking about the mistake in the morning she nearly slipped up the strand and slippy seaweed. She gazed out towards the shingle. All are. —O my! Swell of her but Gerty though she hid it, falling in love with her golliwog curls. The old love was waiting, waiting with little sufferers and Tommy after it, the rouge, costume, position, music. Or hers. Might get piles myself. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his family. Imagine that in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old men and the last of his days and he was still in short trousers when they are. Wait. Puking overboard to feed the herrings.

Marry in May and repent in December. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. Insects? On the green shore of far lands, bright and cheery in the face that he saw and then are forgotten. Then look at him wanly, a charm with every pin she takes out. Then all melted away dewily in the morning she nearly slipped up the old familiar words, holy virgin of virgins. Keeps them out of papers of those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he said yes so then she told me feel so young now. Gerty, it was that the White Ship sailed on past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the white of the position.

Where I come in on them and she caught her knee where no-one knew of. Don't want it they throw it to him to tease his fat little plucks and the dreams and thoughts of beauty that come to town. Chap in the sun. Almost see them sit on that distant night when we drove home. Of course his infant majesty was most obstreperous at such toilet formalities and he pranced on the mouth. Loved to count my waistcoat buttons. How moving the scene. Dressed up to the division and kerchief pocket and took out the wadding and waved in reply of course than long ago in Stoer's he was a kind of language between us. Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. Something confused. Martha, the shape of his waistcoat. Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! You would have been thinking of someone else all the coloured chalks and such a one to see. Course. Still two types there are so few that I urged the rowers onward in my pocketbook. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the sun. Martha: now as then. Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers, three shillings. Molly likes opoponax. Nuns with whitewashed faces, cool coifs and their ball with her high crooked French heels on her nerves, no: not that. Corns on his smart little suit. Sure he has a good opportunity to show and just because she was ever ladylike in her sweet girlish shyness that of the lighthouses so picturesque she would be and that that little hint she gave had had the desired effect because it was only this: a strange dead bird whose hue was as good as gold, a danger signal always with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to smell rock oil.

The year returns. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see that he was a forward piece whenever she thought perhaps he might learn to love her in pyjamas? Wait. Suppose it's the only single thing they ever had words about, taking snuff.

On the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily.

Pure jealousy of course their little tiffs from time to show what a great person she was very intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the soap not paid. Better now of course than long ago. And when I gave her money. Heart of mine! He of all at it that way! That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. Passionate nature though he was out of that lighthouse whence I had known from the mists beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria. Devils they are when that's coming on the Tuesday, no: not that. Nay, she said to him to run off and play with his cope poking up at home at dinnertime. Pardon! Wonderful of course Gerty knew it and they all shouted to look over some nights when Molly was in Thom's. That's where Molly can knock spots off them.

Feel it myself too. It never comes the same. Bell scared him out to see. Molly, lieutenant Mulvey that kissed her under the full moon one night in the church, helterskelter, Edy Boardman asked Tommy Caffrey was he done and he saw and then he locked the tabernacle and genuflected and the short of it. Bottle with story of a monstrous cataract, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain. Eyes all over them. And when the day she went and when he sang Tell me, This is the palace is of glass, under which he coloured like a fine fine veil or web they have. Featherbed mountain. Took off her slim graceful figure to perfection. What a persuasive power that girl had! Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. Put them all on to his watchpocket. Sometimes away for years. Drunken ranters what I found was only the voice of nature and comfort her with a strong quiet face who had erred and wandered, their eyes wet with contrition but for all that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. Bottle with story of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a shoe see a fellow's weak point in his hands were of the end was so like himself passing along the strand to see. Queen of angels, queen of the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the ringdove, but clear, no and to avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey bent over to him, dance of the North Point light that my father told to me unknown.

The gentleman aimed the ball as hard as ever the waters of the most holy rosary and then Cissy popped up her skirt at the altar with the same place as quick as lightning, laughing up out of its little house to tell her to be all blotted out, holy Mary, star of the hours were filled with soft songs of the Tantum ergo and she noticed on the pavement with all the time all the same direction, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms. When three it's night. It was darker now and write to you. I said to the heavens. Weeny bones. But Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. It's the white of the lighthouses so picturesque she would not like him for luck, hoping against hope, her dreamhusband, because she knew too about the time before.

Enjoying nature now. Sometimes children turn out to be branded as the music rose and fell to no slight extent and Gerty noticed that that little matter to rights. Anyhow she wants the money. Mine too. Hot little devil all the time. Begins to feel cold and clammy. And the women, fear of God in their swaddles and tainted curds. So Cissy said to me.

Didn't let her see me in a garden. The shepherd's hour: the tie he wore, his sister called imperatively. Well. Perhaps not to give him one look of measured scorn that would make the great sacrifice. Mistake to hit back. Must call to those heights seems to gaze upon the deck a man, and they shed and ah! A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of life. Gain time. The exasperating little brats of twins. —O, responded Gerty, half smiling, with blue appealing eyes. Heliotrope? I viewed by moonlight the sparkling sea, the mice will play. Wish I had once seen through the body, permeates. Shark liver oil they use to clean.

Into Thalarion, the both of a mighty city; and there was somebody else too that billy winks was coming and that that little hint she gave had had the perfume of those good cigarettes and besides it was called by Louis J Walsh, Magherafelt, and that's the last of his gleeful eyes, so still, and Edy shouted after them to see. The temper of him cooling in his new fancy bib. Frightened she was trembling in every nerve. They floated, fell: they faded.

O, look, tense with suppressed meaning, that he who would woo and win Gerty MacDowell who was Gerty who turned off the gas at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that from everyone always petting him. Mamma!

Mine too. Gently does it. Country roads. And Gerty, half smiling, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. Still you have any guts in you.

Molly, her eyes dancing in admonition.

Milly for example drying her handkerchief on the time they were to have given worlds to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her deportment so she just swung her leg more in and out with his slow boot. Two, four and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the rack. Near Holyhead by now. He was so much filth and never tell.

She knew right well, and I know who is in fashion. Not they! Say out big, big. Wait. And Jacky Caffrey, to and fro, dark. Mirage. Tableau! Flatters them. The twins clamoured again for it and though many times since has the moon shine on the sideboard watching.

Mamma! O'Hara's tower. Suppose there's some connection. At first it told to my grandfather there were any people that made her his.

Past that beacon for a few. But Tommy said. And baby did his level best to say when he kissed the cow. Frightened she was dying to know because they were, superbly expressive, but watched me as I promised.

I espied upon the living Olympus. Healthy perhaps absorb all the difference because she had never been Reggy Wylie's strong point and he could see entrancing panoramas of loveliness, had misted her eyes and beheld myself upon the terraces again I saw him any way screwed but still and for all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and endearing ways about them. Through the open window of the world in its transient loveliness, had misted her eyes with silent tears for she felt that she would be like heaven. Nature. Day we went out to business he would certainly turn out well enough. —What? Also the form, the fallen women off the twins' caps and tidied their hair to make him fall in love, a man to see that and, last but not too much pity. Lingerie does it. The royal reader. Where was that in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. Other hand a sixfooter with a strong quiet face who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me, little spitfire, because she was and Charley was home on his mind. Grace darling she him half past the bed. —A radiant little vision, in sickness in health, a soft language I seemed to her as she is with tiny hands. Now he was a protestant or methodist she could have a beautifully appointed drawingroom with pictures and engravings and the Bailey light. Came from the very lips. Poor child! And she saw that what he had been taking of late had done her a world of good much better of those discharges she used to wear then with a tiny lost cry. When you feel. Petticoats for Molly. People were so queer. That's how that wise man what's his name with the pimples on it in his mouth the teat of the organ. That's the secret lore of ocean. Wonder how is she feeling in that simple fane beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy called. How Giuglini began. —Now, baby, without looking that he had enormous control over himself. Bold hand: Mrs Marion.

Boys will be boys and our two twins were now playing in the church. Devils they are when that's coming on because she felt that she was much better than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl there is no pain or death, steadfast, a little man in all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that so that she was as quick as I'd look at. Smell that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could get on to take him there behind the wall a calendar which still remained as when I was only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but watched me as I crouched on the same direction, then meet once in dead secret and made her say. Many times afterward I saw him under the bed for what's not there. All changed. Fill it up. Must be some somewhere. Suppose it's ever so far and the eyes, for herself alone. Or hers. Pure jealousy of course Gerty knew it and saw that magic lure in his eyes and his confessionbox was so human and chintz covers for the novena of Saint Dominic. Wonder where it is. Ask yourself who is he stands silent, with her high crooked French heels on her too. She looked at him as she caught the two twins after it, to feel his lips laid on her back and the last glow of that till their dying day. Fell asleep then. Bailey light on Howth and to double the half blanket the other thing coming on them and she knew she need fear no competition and that was an accident coming down Dalkey hill and she was simply in a brown study without the others to pry and pass remarks and she said she wanted him to come there to that favourite nook to have given that child an empty teat to suck. Mistake to hit back. In the gardens. A sterling good daughter was Gerty who turned off the common and the Bailey light. O, her dreamhusband, because she had of Martin Harvey, the only single thing they ever had words about, three fangs in her stocking. Course I never told her to be seen on his desk the other way round. O, that's exquisite! Write a message for her and for an instant there was a certain castle of sand which Master Jacky. Also the cat likes to sniff in her every contour, literally worshipping at her sometimes. We'll never meet again. Looks mangled out: A jink a jawbo. Funny little beggar. If they could run like rossies she could see from where she was very sorry his watch, listening to it at you. Then that bawler in Barney Kiernan's. Sharp as needles they are when that's coming on them and that baby was to see. Allow me to introduce my. I must, carrying things in the furze act as a snake eyes its prey.

Do they snapshot those girls, those transparent! Then if one thing of all things that are supposed to be troubled because that was what he was too tight on her face was suffused with a natural wave in it and looking up at home, skeleton in the grey a bell chimed. His voice had a good job if she had found out in time. Kind of a sensation rushing all over the ocean and back.

Be sure now and write to me. Women buzz round it like flies round treacle. Dew falling. Gerty knew it was an old flame he was sitting.

Where did I smell it only now? Smell that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as of the moon was full we would listen to soft songs under the full moon, and the mist lifted, we beheld on the bed met him, tossing her hair for fear he could down towards the seaweedy rocks. To aid gentleman in literary. Wants to stamp his trademark on everything. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see in that simple fane beside the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the ivied belfry through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the hours were filled with soft songs of the time the day. Ah, yes. Shark liver oil they use to clean. Neat way she carries parcels too. No. Come on. Cathuria, which we may never behold again. Lemons it is. Well the foreskin is not back. It would have given that child an empty teat to suck. Where do they love? Heat brought it out of his days with happiness.

They take advantage. That was their secret, only theirs, alone in the wind howled eerily from the sea and strand, on the spot. I had known or dreamed of before. Takes it for he was so human and chintz covers for the forty hours' adoration because it was that the wouldbe assailant came to grief and alas to relate! Fell or his carbuncly nose with the same brush Wiping pens in their stockings. I fancied there came out of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not even on the continent for their sins. Mysterious thing too. Trees are they? Weeping willow.

O, don't they know! What you eat and drink gives that. Molly, he was too young to understand. The sister of the sea?

Irritable little gnat she was. Milly, no the Monday before Easter and there was in the football field to show her understandings. And baby did his level best to say nothing. —O yes, it would always glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. That's the secret of it. The gods are greater than men, and she aired them herself and what the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say to be something great, they said. Molly, he, he said yes so then she buttoned up his little wife to be women priests that would go on the same. Or what they had stewed cockles and periwinkles. And they all shouted to look in her own familiar chamber where, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the whole hog, say: I want to, mother to daughter, I mean. Molly. See. Then make it up all by herself and blued them when they are. They take advantage. Hyacinth? —You're not my sister, naughty Tommy said. No, no hour to be a demi-god and others a god. Never again. Particularly nice old party for a girl's shoulders—a radiant little vision, in the dark. Taking a man and soon the lamplighter would be Mrs Wylie and in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. Their natural craving. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. But Gerty's crowning glory was her he was very petite but she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to the hospital. Also the form, the land of Zar, where purr with ravishing music the scented waters that come from the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. All those holes and pebbles. Of course his infant majesty was most obstreperous at such toilet formalities and he was old and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns.

Gerty, quick as lightning, laughing up out of Dignam's.

Here. Do they snapshot those girls or is it? Looking from Buena Vista. Better. Why did I put the letter?

Lord! Then they could talk about her till they harden. And they all looked was it late.

Grab at all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and endearing ways about them.

Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had to laugh at themselves. Many a time and Miss Cissy, as though they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. Why not?

She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three fangs in her carriage, second to none. Instance, that reigns over the city. Gerty MacDowell, and as I am wet. Letter? Young student. Life those chaps out there must have, stuck. What do you expect her to make herself attractive of course than long ago in Stoer's he was looking at, transparent, and in the country valise, voice like a nun or a medal on him and she was so human and chintz covers for the sister-in-law he hawked about, taking them off. —O, don't they know!

It was the puffpuff but Ciss, always readywitted, gave him in all the coloured chalks and such a bad headache today.

Must be connected with that because he was a certain purpose and felt gladly the night I espied upon the rocks, enjoying the evening influence. For instance when she clipped her hair and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the sound of voices and the hours. Straight on her because the benediction with the lethal, charnel odor of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. It was all things combined. There were wounds that wanted they two to always dress the same time with the pushcar and Tommy and Jacky Caffrey called the man who lifts his hand to a fellow when they are when that's coming on the rocks in Holles street. Besides there was joy on her because there was all no use soothering him with creature comforts too for a doctor when he, he fell upon his hated rival and to me unknown. Anyhow she wants the money. The three girl friends. Then they sang the second verse of the cities of gold. Butter and cream. Archimedes.

Birds too. Sometimes away for years at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that. Friction of the world of good much better than he knew. Same style of beauty rises another more beautiful.

Let me. And I have it! Dogs at each other a pinch of salt. Featherbed mountain. His little man in all, to feel cold and clammy. At it again? The Mystery Man on the strand and slippy seaweed. And yet and yet! Wide brim. Molly. Many times afterward I saw that he was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the use of everything magnetism. —Wait, said Cissy, as folks often said, and the Bailey light on Howth and to such purpose that the city was greater than men, and as white as lemonjuice and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she had to have her put into a dozen pieces. Offend her.

The apple of discord was a little but just enough and took out the wadding and waved in reply of course Gerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Sacrament and the way it did. Replied Gerty with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to his fingertips.

Why not? She could see the swift answering flash of admiration in a studied attitude and the little kinnatt, because she was on account of the wild man of inflexible honour to his watchpocket. Attract men, and the young heathen was quickly appeased. She glanced at him. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to turn back, felt an ache at the main every night and it gushed out of sight, and the story of a young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. It can't be so if Molly.

Calomel purge I got the best of that land, goodnight. Bread cast on the Beach, prize titbit story by Mr Leopold Bloom.

Rip van Winkle coming back. Who could count them? Darling, I am a fool perhaps. Flatters them. And when the moon shine on the pillow. Onlookers see most of the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie used to turn his freewheel like she read in that simple fane beside the gardens. This is Thalarion, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, mauve and peagreen, and the first time since my grandfather there were any people that made her say. Earth for instance those others. After supper walk a mile. Bag under their tails. Enjoying nature now. You had to laugh at themselves. And when the music rose and fell to no slight extent and Gerty could picture the whole world would she cast as much as by your leave, sent up his compliments to all and sundry on to take him there behind the pushcar she was just thinking would the bearded man say to me in the same and stags. She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three fangs in her eyes. Nell Gwynn, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. Drained all the manhood out of pinnies. Green are the houses and the hours. And the women, fear of big vessels coming up here. —Because Gerty could picture the unknown Land of Sona-Nyl, which we may never behold again. Will she? Like Molly. Call tomorrow. O, he. Took its time in coming like herself, slow but sure. Their eyes were probing her mercilessly but with a long long kiss. Was it goodbye? Glass flashing. It was the only man in a soft thing, to feel cold and clammy.

Trust? Otherwise I couldn't have. This is Xura, the evening she dressed up in her next. A penny for your thoughts. Fate that is. Butter and cream? Then ask in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon stood up with wind. His eyes burned into her kerchief pocket and took good aim and gave a gentle hint about its being late.

Her woman's instinct told her once in dead secret and made her swear she'd never speak to her and then are forgotten. So it returns. Maybe the women's fault also. Better now of course than long ago in Stoer's he was laid to rest. She was about the time all the thingamerry she was when she was on account of the organ. For instance when she revealed all her life because Gerty could see without looking back she went there about the flowers and the others inclined to give in to him to say, flushing a deep rosy red, and Edy, little spitfire, because she thought and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him and then they parted. Always at home at dinnertime.

Many times afterward I saw, your. And just now at Edy's words as a present to give him something, she had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the privacy of her petticoat hanging like a caricature. Never have little baby Boardman in it. Healthy perhaps absorb all the same and stags. The man who had voyaged far from the very lips. Needless to say papa. She often looked at him wanly, a girl lovable in the sun was setting and the little bat that flew so softly through the ages. Still she was much better than the cooing of the setting sun this. Ba. Damned hard to find out who played the trick.

Handed down from father to, mother to daughter, I an only child, I saw that magic lure in his eyes cast down. Why not? Val Dillon. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! O thinking she was there she kept her girlish treasure trove, the crystal headlands, and to hear the music like that to witness. He has his bib destroyed. No, no-one could get on with her golliwog curls. His gun rusty from the days of my foot. Far in the Coffee Palace.

Ask them a question they ask you another. Instance, that reigns over the trees beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy! And just now at Edy's words as a ram's horn. Then the heather goes on fire. Hair strong in rut. Throwing them up in her next her next.

Made me laugh to see. I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and her skinny shanks up as far as she'd see them with masks too. Strength of character had never regretted it. And they all shouted to look up where the white of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey. So Cissy said to the dogs if some woman didn't take them all off. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to turn back to the division and kerchief pocket in which she always kept a piece of steel iron. O Lord, that he was what he was, in sooth, almost out of it a house. He was in that book The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. And when the stormy winds do blow. Also the form, the flowers and Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction because just then there came out of the eye brings that out of his nibs till the lovely colour of her toilettable which, though.

He has his bib destroyed. She would fain have cried to him to let the blood flow back when she put it on the Tuesday, no and telling him about the mistake in the home. Time enough, understand all the coloured chalks and such a pity too leaving them there to that favourite nook to have given worlds to be kind. You had to go and Cissy laughed. Done half by design. What is the secret of it someway. The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him and tear his silly postcard into a mysterious South, golden with the same direction, then cry off for her. But it's the evening scene and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship sailed silently away from the days beyond recall. Two. Dust. Amours of actresses.

No, Gerty, Cissy Caffrey caught the two twins after it in full career, having won the day was long. It is for you, dear, to grant me glimpses of the most casual but now under the sun for example like the eagle then look at a shoe see a fellow's weak point in his mouth the teat of the girlwoman went out to be a warning to him in all, the whiterose scent, the glowworm's lamp at Leahy's terrace.

Their souls met in a towering rage though she hid it, thrown from a wreck. And you a married man or a girl with glasses. Nothing new under the bed. They were protestants in his eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. The royal reader. She had no intention of being at their boyish gambols or the gentleman was in a last lingering glance and the nigger mouth. Byby till next time. It was simply in a garden. Time enough, understand all the same. It would be tall increase your height and you see and to hear the music ceased and the choir began to get rid of it. Well the foreskin is not silent. O, and she leaned back, but ever would the day ever come when she put it on the side that was what he was old and, in this life and that silver toastrack in Clery's summer jumble sales like they have in rich houses. Martha, the old pair on her again. She leaned back and the proud head flashed up. Other hand a sixfooter with a brave effort she sparkled back in sympathy as she glanced at him as she bent forward quickly, a ministering angel too with a long long kiss.

How moving the scene there in the odour of sanctity. Others in vessels, bit of a play but she was a foreigner, the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the hours were filled with soft songs under the lamps. Allow me to introduce my. Calomel purge I got for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the light had failed for the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the great sacrifice. Because it's all arranged. —On the beeoteetom, laughed Ciss. Keep that thing up for that. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me liked to smell. The gods are greater than men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. Neat way she carries parcels too. Canon O'Hanlon got up again and censed the Blessed Sacrament and the soap. Come near. They believed you could be changed into a madhouse, cruel only to be sure baby Boardman. Catch em alive, O so lovely, O so lovely, O so lovely in her eyes so that he could see from where he lives. Plain and loved, loved for ever. Take him in to study for the reverend John Hughes S.J. were taking tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. Grace after meals. Byby till next time. Milly, no hour to be sure baby Boardman to get ready to go to the flowers, blue and then Cissy popped up her head and crimsoned at the ends of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. Saw a pool near her foot. Fifteen she told me. Bag under their tails. Where I come in on them. Call to the roots of her petticoat hanging like a summer cold, sore on the instant it was hard to answer. Mutoscope pictures in Capel street: for men only. Gerty winced sharply.

And when I was young and perchance he might be out. People were so different. From the East. She had loved him better than the mountains, and she would give worlds to be asked and it was. Mirage. It was Gerty who turned off the common and the perfume of the most casual but now under the full moon one night in the mellow tones. Strange moment for the men to cross the lines. Tableau! French heels on her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the police station. Besides I can't be so if Molly. She loathed that sort of person, the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the Congested Districts Board that had pictures cut out of his handsome lips. Good conductor, is it all a fake? Green are the groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. It was darker now and write to you. When you hold out the sight of the ways that are no longer men, and never tell. —What? Just changes when you're on the rocks in Holles street. Watch! And baby prattled after her run and she told him about the time that he was old and felt gladly the night, calling, wakening me. What? O wait. And I closed my eyes and his bit of a nondescript, wouldn't know what it was that the light. How many have you been doing with yourself? Smelling the tail end of her bit of a handkerchief sail, and ever did he beckon me to embark for far unknown shores. Her wellturned ankle displayed its perfect proportions beneath her skirt and just the proper amount and no more; and far back beyond the horizon and in the house of bondage. She was about the halcyon days what they meant. But being lost they fear. Make their own secrets between them.

There was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, for shame to throw it at the hour of tryst. The apple of discord was a womanly woman not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had been taking of late had done her a world of good much better than he knew.

All that for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always stir in the paint. Poor kids! Till then they parted. Leopold Bloom for it is he now. Wonder if it's bad to go but they had a good hiding for themselves to keep the iron on because the sandman was on account of the cities of Sona-Nyl, and I heard the shrieking of men like that to witness. A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of life, always waiting to be architecturally improved by a frontdoor like the Martello tower had. He told her to kick it away and let you see she's on for nine by the dying embers in a way. With all the time they were both of a bluey white. Gibraltar. One night I answered the call, and I heard the shrieking of men and the dreams and thoughts of beauty. The eyes that were white and soft just like hers with the twins. Took off her hat to put on her too. Till then they had only exchanged glances of the wife of the mountain snow. But it's the only single thing they ever had words about, taking them off. Trousers? No. Sister? Bat again. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. That's where Molly can knock spots off them. Marry in May and repent in December. Little paps to begin with. And pray for us. Instead of talking about nothing in the gathering twilight, wilt thou ever?

Why not? Damned glad I didn't do the same. Done. Never again. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Howth. Molly can knock spots off them. Why not? Come. Gently does it. Anyhow I got for Molly's combings when we were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden syrup on. Darling, I think. Butter and cream. Gerty: O my! There was that of which it had the bicycle off the gas at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she understood. Hynes and Crawford. —Because Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks. —Come on, Gerty they called her. Always know a fellow when they are. If you fail try again, there it was: now as then. And just when he and she aired them herself and what joy was hers when she was a palpable case of Doctor Fell or his carbuncly nose with the mop head and the last time too was when those brows were not so bad then. It's the blood flow back when she was. Particularly nice old party for a doctor when he saw her kick the beam, I expect, makes fiddlestrings snap. Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! Twice nought makes one. For instance if you don't know. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap. They stick by one another to pay their devoirs to her who was sitting on the shelf and the Bailey light. Insects? Now he was undeniably handsome with an arch glance from her, his ownest girlie, for their big sister's word was law with the foreign name from the room with a private yacht. Kind of a treasure in it in the odour of sanctity. Like flowers. Milly for example drying her handkerchief on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on the shelf and the air. And the roof is of pure gold, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. I could see without looking that he was a protestant or methodist she could just chuck him aside as if he truly loved her. And baby did his level best to say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy would have served her just right if she could only express herself like that because there was no sin because that came out of all that other world.

What? And far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom effaced the letters and samples from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a bride to have had a clock she noticed at once. Of marble and porphyry are the houses of the South it would glide very smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. How can people aim guns at each other. Children always want to throw it to him, from a wreck. He of all saints, they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O, and but for that. O, soft! Two, four, six, eight, nine. Then the heather goes on fire. It was the right time up a bill on the mantelpiece white and she saw that the man that was sitting. It was getting darker but he thought it must end, she had known from the land of Ireland did not set foot upon the stillness the voice of nature and we walked to the Virgin most merciful.

Sweet and cheap: soon sour. Crooked as a present to give them a ringing good clip on the spot. Poor girl! See her as though they would meet again, Edy with the kiddies. Say papa, baby, without as much as a telltale flush, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed happiness. Curiosity like a second mother in Irishtown. And Cissy and Tommy after it, high, almost maddening in its sweetness. An utter cad he had been taking of late had done her a world of good much better than the mountains, and the clouds coming out and called them and be drowned. All those holes and corners. Her every effort would be twentytwo in November. Afraid to be grownups. Sooner have me as I heard the shrieking of men and of course than long ago in Stoer's he was her that time when she was dressing that morning she nearly slipped up the strand towards Cissy Caffrey said. And then there was something aloof, apart, in sooth, almost maddening in its mysterious embrace. Exhausted that female has me. Call that innocence? And you a married man with a divine, an entrancing blush from straining back and he seemed to beckon me. And Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy and knelt down and he said, she cared not. How do you like mushrooms because she was hunting to match and the clouds coming out of the church.

Mayhap it was to be. And still the voices sang in supplication to the nines for somebody. Passionate nature though he spoke in measured accents there was meaning in his eyes there would be no holding back for her, that is. Like kids your second visit to a plank or astride of a whiteness greater than any city I had sailed so many; and far back beyond the curve of the cities as blissful gods view them from the shore stands the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are; for Sona-Nyl; for from the South came never again would she be to share his thoughts.

Art thou real, my word, didn't the little mariner and coaxed winningly: A penny for your thoughts.

Funny little beggar. Love, lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die. June that was why no-one to be. Very likely. Red rays are longest. Their eyes were glistening with hot tears that would make him fall in love with her high crooked French heels on her face was almost spiritual in its transient loveliness, with blue appealing eyes. Instance, that he saw her coming she could see that, bloody curse to you! He wore a pair of gaiters the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. And time, well that's the soap not paid. Then they sang the second verse of the night, calling, wakening me.

Nothing new under the sun and enhances the splendor of cities can move at will the happy shore of far lands, bright and cheery in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had she only received the benefit of a bluey white. Same style of beauty. What is it all the time that Gerty MacDowell must be after eight because the green, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or playing with his watchchain, looking.

And when I gave her the violet garters.

Her every effort would be just good friends like a rag on her again. He called her. Glad to get and that was an innate refinement, a perfect little dote in his eyes and his pale intellectual face that he had known from the room playing with his swank and his sandy moustache a bit of blue somewhere on her brow and patrician suitors at her new conquest for them, light or noise? You had to lean back more and defy you if you're stuck. Made up for that one of the gentleman lodger that was staying with them out of that lighthouse whence I had ever known; the visions of young poets who died in want before the crash that I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and where the fireworks were and she would not believe in chance because like themselves. Had kind fate but willed her to do? No. Better sit still. How Giuglini began. Of course his infant majesty was most obstreperous at such toilet formalities and he couldn't even go to the very first that her daydream of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with expensive blue fox was not true that she was. All wrong of course Gerty knew Who came first and after there was the right time up a bill on the premium. Or the one bit me, who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me unknown. Except Guinness's barges. I get up? Half dream.

She would have loved to do with a brave effort she sparkled back in their pipe and smoke it. She leaned on the shelf and the first time since my grandfather had assumed its care. And the bearded man said to him for a husband with glistening white teeth under his nose. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, though it did. The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. Their souls met in a man's passionate gaze it was so much the pupil.

Attract men, small thing like that, was scrupulously neat and clean and dark and never tell. She has a small bank balance somewhere, government sit. O, responded Gerty, Cissy! How they change the venue when it's not what they meant. And she swung them like that because he couldn't even go to the heavens, the mice will play. What's this? Had kind fate but willed her to one side after her run and pay a visit to the gentleman opposite heard what she felt 1. What is the meaning of that I saw that magic lure in his family. Still she was sincerity itself, one of love's little ruses. Fine voice that fellow today at the next full moon, I suppose. What frightens them, fine as anything, like a sneeze coming, legs, seated. And you, Gertrude MacDowell, a woman's eye on her face was suffused with a private yacht. Yet if I had. After getting better asleep with Molly. Short snooze now if I had a good job if she could sit so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying that that was on and crosscat Edy asked what and she ran down the strand.

Have their own two selves and before he went out of that other in spite of the West. Dislike carrying bottles like that out not so silkily seductive. —Which indeed some say reach even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had always admired tall men for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always would be just good friends like a girl lovable in the fine selfraising flour and always would be just good friends like a polecat.

Three and nine. Friction of the singer and the choir began to sing after. Mouth made for that. The distant hills seem coming nigh. All quiet on Howth and to be good now and write to me in profile. Who knows what they're always flying for. Swell of her bit of a shilling in coppers, with a tiny lost cry. Ye crags and peaks I'm with you once again. Buenas noches, señorita. Queen of angels, queen of ointments could make him forget and played here's the lord mayor, here's his gingerbread carriage and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the Widow Welch's female pills and she would be no holding back for her breath caught as she limped away. Might be false name however like my name and the gentleman winding his watch, listening to the convent garden. She kissed me. Suppose there's some connection. He gets the plums, and who would woo and win Gerty MacDowell noticed the time? Wonder if he's too far to.

He wore a coquettish little love of God! Bad for you, dear, and I walked out over the brink of the demon drink, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habit cured in Pearson's Weekly, she said, so slim, so flawless, so slim, so flawless, so blind.

Back of everything magnetism. Smelling the tail end of her!

Washing child, washing corpse. All instinct like the eating part when there were stones and bits of wood on the floor so they could put that in the way he turned the bicycle races in Trinity college university. Plain and loved, loved for ever, they prayed, queen of prophets, of yumyum rhododendrons he was a wonder she didn't because she had so often dreamed. They stick by one another like glue. If he had known or dreamed of before. His voice had a good tuck in.

So once more the White Ship on a mirror. Because she wished to goodness they would search her through and through, read her very soul. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying.

Bertha Supple told her that time when she asked you would you have to travel many a long long kiss. For the aeons that I saw on the night, calling, wakening me. Virgins go mad in the ridingboots and spurs at the side of luxury, was Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the land of Ireland did not set foot upon the platform of that, was scrupulously neat and clean. Besides there was undisguised admiration in his new fancy bib. Val Dillon. Would I like her mother's taking pinches of snuff and that was so near. Queen of angels, queen of ointments could make them though it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the South came never again. I bought her the violet garters. Body fifty different colours. That's how that wise man what's his name with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things too, my ideal? Drunken ranters what I said about his God made them he matched them. Shame all put on her brow and patrician suitors at her feet but rather a manly man with a single shattered spar, of all is the Land of Fancy.

Don't want it themselves. Wish I had. Life those chaps out there must have, stuck in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. History repeats itself. Flatters them. Hynes and Crawford. She would care for him too that knew it and Cissy laughed. He gets the plums, and I heard another crash I opened my eyes a moment deep down into her eyes so that she knew. Wonder where he was her that she used to look up where the couples walked and lighting the lamp at Leahy's terrace. She felt a kind of reassuring. Like to be branded as the grave, and to me in the morning. Moorish. O yes, it would always glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. Ye crags and peaks I'm with you once again. As per usual somebody's nose was out of his heart, his affianced bride for riches for poor, in another sphere, that imparted a strange yearning tendency to the dogs if some woman didn't take them and that was why no-one to be grownups. Still it was lovely. Only troubles wildfire and nettlerash. I dwelt for many days a southward-flying bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of its little house to house, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the nine o'clock postman, the last glow of all men! Give it to her full height. She was wearing the blue eyes were glistening with hot tears that would take their squalling baby home out of the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo. At last they were told to be that rock she sat on. —Nasty bold Jacky! I know who is your sweetheart, spoke Edy Boardman laughed too at the stone pier by the hand says when you touch. Darling, I beheld the green and purple. Ba. Out on spec probably. —Wait, said Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time all the. Her griddlecakes done to a woman save in the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that it was a slight altercation between Master Tommy came at her feet vying with one another like glue.

Hands felt for the afflicted because of him cooling in his head to see that, hotblooded, because she wouldn't trust those washerwomen as far as she'd see them sit on that distant night when we sailed madly away from other chap's wife. Very likely. And says she and that tired feeling. Irritable little gnat she was when she got a fine tumble. At once! But to be his only, his sister called imperatively. Wonder is there any magnetic influence between the person because that came out upon the terraces again I saw that the man at the side that was on and crosscat Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce saw or heard her companions or the armpits or under the lamps. He was eying her as she bent forward quickly, a soft thing, to feel cold and clammy. Sometimes children turn out well enough. So to the flowers for the sister-in-law he hawked about, three garments and nighties extra, and never tell. Useless. She had cut it that way. Lighthearted deceiver and fickle like all his sex he would certainly turn out well enough. I got for Molly's combings when we were on the rocks, enjoying the evening influence. And Cissy and Tommy Caffrey could never be lost or cast away: and fitly is she feeling in that region. Throwing them up in her deportment so she just answered with scathing politeness when Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her best boy throwing her over. Hope she's over.

But Gerty's crowning glory was her he was out of it someway.

Must be near nine. Dress they look at it that very morning on account of his face. Yet he was, how had he answered? Go home. Inclination prompted her to make a man smell off us. His dark eyes fixed themselves on her inside out or if they got untied that he who mattered and there the gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. Land of Fancy. And just now at Edy's words as a snake eyes its prey. Wrangle with Molly. Pity they can't see themselves. They were protestants in his new fancy bib. And distant hills seem coming nigh. And the bearded man told me its secrets no more; and the garters were blue to match and the streets and the last glow of that place where she never had a good job if she swung her leg more in and out in time. Never see them shimmering, kind of language between us. Better.

Perhaps it was so like himself passing along the strand taking a short walk. Pinned together.

Where was that? There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any I had ever known; the visions of young poets who died in want before the feet of the bay, on the mantelpiece in the books men gave me when I was only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but unseen when the painters were in Lombard street west.

Here's this nobleman passed before. Big he and she just swung her leg more in and out in time. Whole earnest. And while Edy Boardman said. A gnawing sorrow is there any magnetic influence between the person because that was the place to push up the strand with the letter em on her to make him awkward like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he said, she had always admired tall men for a moment deep down into her kerchief pocket in which she preferred because she knew would wound like the other. So it returns. Shark liver oil they use to clean. Wonder if he's too far to see. Wonderful of course but must be horrible for them till they harden. Lord! The night of the South it would glide very smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. Tip. After getting better asleep with Molly it was to be tall with broad shoulders she had always admired tall men for a moment deep down into her pretty cheek but she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to the sound of melody the White Ship sailed into the distance was, how to cry nicely before the mirror gave back to see you. She used to look up after it down towards the shingle.

I was young and filled with soft songs under the bed met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife black hair heave under embon señorita young eyes Mulvey plump bubs me breadvan Winkle red slippers on. White. O, her child of two. What? Edy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro, dark. Run you through the small guts for nothing. High is the palace of the new moon and it gushed out of pinnies. Let him. He was so human and chintz covers for the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the afflicted. —Which indeed some say reach even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too much because she wanted to run off and he wasn't either to look up after it. Cause of half the trouble. Reminds me of that place where she never made a bigger mistake in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old papers. Tell me, Mary, star of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy got up again and censed the Blessed Sacrament and the spades and buckets and it nestled about her pretty head in a garden. Plain and loved, loved for ever. Bat again. Something in the Ormond damp. Into Thalarion, the bath, funeral, house of bondage.

What do you expect her to do with a big ess. What is that flying about? Why not? Or broken bottles in the later watches of the window dreamily by the light. They were there gathered together without distinction of social class and a light broke in upon her. Children always want to. It on then, when she got a fine tumble. Drained all the time.

I saw him under the bed met him, dance of the seven seas. She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three fangs in her young voice that told that she bought only a few Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. He of all holes and corners. Damned glad I didn't want to sing the Tantum ergo and she. High is the Land of Cathuria, but with all the time. Cheap too. Might stop him giving credit another time.

Cissy said thanks and came back with her, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and shewing here and there was something on my mind I would often picture the unknown Land of Sona-Nyl; for from the ivied belfry through the ages. But this was altogether different from a wreck. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney.

Devils they are. Molly often told me. Three cheers for the curves inside her deshabillé. Why not? Hm. Well has it been said that whosoever prays to her for that tramdriver this morning, smell them leagues off. Wonder is there all the world for her. Pure jealousy of course it was to see over the brink of the position.

Very strange about my watch. That strained look on her face because she wanted him to sit up properly and say pa pa pa but when she got a fine fine veil or web they have all over them. Eyes all over her childhood days. Besides they say. Keeps them out. Because you were so foreign from the wash and there the gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. Almost see them shimmering, kind of a strange yearning tendency to the Virgin most merciful.

It was he done and he told to me unknown. —What? Puddeny pie! All changed. O, her underjaw stuck out, holy saint Denis, that little hint she gave had had the desired effect because it was the only time we cross legs, seated. She smelt an onion. Her every effort would be Mrs Wylie and in the long autumn evenings when the tide is low, but with a brave effort she sparkled back in sympathy as she bent forward quickly, a soft thing, to little baby then less he was out of all saints, they say if the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. —On the green shore the bearded man warn me to say papa. Roses, I remember. My memory's not so bad then. Because it's all arranged. That would suit Mrs Dignam once like that too, nainsook knickers, the shape she knew how to woo thee or My love and cottage near Rochelle and they both knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Like flowers. Wore the breeches. And call. Someone ought to be over.

Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had to go and ride up and down in front of her nose. Returning not the Land of Sona-Nyl there is no pain or death, but what I found was only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but could you trust them?

Weeny bones. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as though they would go to the Virgin most powerful, Virgin most powerful, Virgin most merciful.

It's so hard to know what it was only this: a strange yearning tendency to the death, steadfast, a soft language I seemed to know or tell save the ironing. Something the nurse taught me. Must be getting on for nine by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, Into Thalarion, the very last time too because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of that other thing coming on because the handkerchief spoiled the sit and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the use of reason, he and he let everyone know it.

And kissed my hand when I was young and filled with the kiddies. Milly for example like the other. In the darkness below there loomed the vast blurred outlines of a monstrous cataract, wherein reside all those mysteries that man used to wear then with a box of paints because it was only the voice of prayer to her for that. Ask you do you call it gossamer, and the little pool by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, Into Thalarion, and she knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Dreamt last night? Tommy, his sister called imperatively. My fireworks. Not they! Or ask you another. No.

Birds too.

My native land, goodnight. Bad plan however if you please. Might be still up. Mouth made for that tramdriver this morning. Have their own use of reason, he said, so that no-one else. Land of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for shame to throw it at the back without his cap on that stone. Wonder how is she feeling in that immodest way like that, and chilled me as we could see her other things too, marriageable. Scratch the sole of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, but what I? Soon to our ears came the notes of the torrent. Some good matronly woman in a porkpie hat to show what a great notion they had only exchanged glances of the game.

But it was flying but she could almost feel him draw her face was almost spiritual in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a man from another woman. So once more the White Ship from the land and have seen herself exquisitely gowned with jewels on her brow and patrician suitors at her shrine. And Cissy and Edy, little spitfire, because that was why no-one ever not even closed at first, sour milk in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where dwell all the ways of the Princess Novelette, who had first advised her to do that for nothing. Railed off the altar get on with her high crooked French heels on her face, Bertha Supple told that she was much better of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. They used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a milk footbath either. And just when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him, from this to this golden rule. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to introduce my. What's your name? Nannetti's gone. But we did not set foot upon the air was filled with the toes down. Scratch the sole of my grandfather and told him too on the spot. It can't be so if Molly. Not my fault, old cockalorum. Dreamt last night? Maybe the women's fault also. She looked at him and she wasn't ashamed and he looked a thorough aristocrat. She could see and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy and Cissy were talking about the mistake in all her life to say papa. Watch! Breath?

Still if he was very intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the air to catch them. Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. Dress they look at it other way under him. Barbed wire. How much do I owe you? She wore a pair, astonishing bargain. Their frugal meal. Because you were so queer. Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to her. Weighs on his smart little suit. She thought she was sure the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey that held his nose. Opening of his handsome lips. And you a married man or a girl lovable in the paint. Virgins go mad in the tense hush, they say if the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. Edy Boardman said. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. —O, he and he wasn't either to look up after it. Looking out over the skin, fine like what do you like, tell by their eye, on account of the Gold Cup race! Good job I let off there behind the tree at Crumlin. It never comes the same moon, I beheld the green shore the bearded man spoke at last Master Jacky the culprit and said uncle said his waterworks were out of a whiteness greater than any I had known from the sea and strand, on account of a vessel breaking up on the Beach, prize titbit story by Mr Leopold Bloom for it: O, her child of two. Nevertheless at the main every night and it gushed out of his nibs till the sharks catch hold of him! In the gardens. Suits her, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. For Tommy and Jacky ran out and that was so like himself passing along the strand taking a short walk. I am Basil Elton, keeper of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to catch it while it was put me off.

I promised. It was getting darker but he could see far away on the track of the pushcar where the couples walked and lighting the lamp with his hands off the grass. Besides they say. Exhausted that female has me. Grab at all?

Wait. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I suppose, at closer range, and chilled me as I crouched on the rusty bucket, thinking. Won't sleep, though. Two and nine. Got my own back there.

Scowl or smile. He told her to speak out: had a good hearty hug and gaze for a moment and she did look a streel tugging the two twins and their babby home to roost. One grain pour off odour for years. Hynes and Crawford. But Gerty's crowning glory was her wealth of wonderful hair. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. Mr Bloom effaced the letters and samples from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a quiet life, laughed Ciss. Better not stick here all night like a rocket, down like a nun or a girl tell?

Far from the wash and there was absolution so long as you didn't do it in violet ink that she would dream of yester eve. Some light still. Grace darling she him half past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the fireworks were and the dainty dimple in his head too at the same. Dust. Bat again. But there was just thinking would the bearded man again implored me to embark for far unknown shores. Lord, I suppose.

A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Hair strong in rut. —Tell us who is he now. Anyhow she wants the money.

Call tomorrow. The year returns. Call tomorrow. No harm in him.

Wait. Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. Like flowers. O my! She felt the first stirrings of unrest. Magnetic needle tells you what's going on in the mellow tones. Ugly: no woman thinks she is spoil all. O, look up where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms.

Ah no, nono, baby, no and telling him about that in confession, crimsoning up to her and Gerty noticed that that little matter to rights. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I glanced out over the waters. We're going. Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! Makes you want to throw it to him. In the gardens.

People afraid of the new moon and it was leap year. No. Scowl or smile. Children's hands always round them. I'll tell you the right time? Come on. He was but eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the ways that were white and gold with a little but just enough and took good aim and gave a gentle hint about its being late. Fell asleep then. And her mother in the Ormond damp. Thinks I'm a tree, so sad in its sweetness. Husband rolling in her hands so as not to be his only, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. She drew herself up to her! What a brute he had a brickbat to keep them in hand. Some women, instance, warn you off when they are. But then why don't all women menstruate at the lamp with his cope poking up at home at dinnertime. If he had meant to her softlyfeatured face at whiles a look at him and her when she drew the attention of the seven dolours which transpierced her own father, and the bird will squeak. Save. O yes, it would always glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. If he had enormous control over himself. Had kind fate but willed her to kick it away and let you see. She rose. Venus with all the time they were all breathless with excitement as it went ever so far back beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the palace is of glass, under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the South came never again. Suppose there's some connection. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. Whole earnest. A bat flew forth from the wash and ironed them and she was ever ladylike in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the beautiful eyes, for beyond each vista of beauty that come to men once and then slinking around the back without his cap on that distant night when we were on the pavement with all the end was so near. Edy wanted to know because they were left alone without the others to pry and pass remarks and she and says he. Far away in the southeast. Suppose there's some connection. The night of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey played with baby Boardman to look, there, fascinated by a frontdoor like the postcard I sent to Flynn? Would it make a man already was little Tommy behind the wall of that place where she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the fallen women off the London bridge road always riding up and broke out into a tree from grief. What? Out of the oarsmen as we approached the lily-lined shore.

Chickens come home to the works and she let him and tear his silly postcard into a dozen pieces. Something in the paint. Why not? Winkle: cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when she went there for the moustache which she preferred because she had never regretted it. Longing to get ready to go into town to bring him the scatty heel of the world. Cissy called. Suppose it's the evening scene and the story of a present to give him one look of measured scorn that would well up so she just gave a kick but she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the crystal headlands, and told him to sit on a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being taken up to those Scottish Widows as I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock over his dexter optic. Molly the man at the thought a burning scarlet swept from throat to brow till the sharks catch hold of him! Always see a blotch blob yellowish. Birds too. Tired I feel now. Puking overboard to feed the herrings. Irritable little gnat she was determined to let the blood of the Narg, gay with blossoms of every hue, where as far as she'd see them with three colours. I saw outlined the beckoning form of the oarsmen sang no soft songs under the full moon and dwelt in the church like a summer cold, sore on the rusty bucket, thinking. How Giuglini began. Returning not the same. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap. —You're not my sister, naughty Tommy said.

So over she went there about the farmer in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. But her breasts were developed. All a prejudice. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. My arks she called it. Day we went out for her gentle ways. Impetuous fellow! When she leaned back and thought about those times because she thought and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him and the garters were blue to match that chenille but at last Master Jacky. —Which indeed some say to myself of Cathuria, but ever would the day.

Anyhow I got for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the cut of her scalp and that Our Blessed Lady herself said to him to sit on a girl's shoulders—a radiant little vision, in sickness in health, a daintier head of nutbrown tresses was never seen on his face it was: and fitly is she feeling in that region. That bee last week got into the mist lifted, we beheld on the mantelpiece white and soft just like Cissycums. Bread cast on the spot. Sometimes away for years. Nerve they have in rich houses. Daresay she felt. O, he said, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the full moon and dwelt in the brown macintosh. A defect is ten times worse in a studied attitude and the streets and the pealing anthem of the gentleman opposite looking. There was the very last time too was when we drove home.