#i hope it's a hot Italian boy luring me there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jisungsplatforms · 4 years ago

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[Chapter V: Han Jisung, you irresistible young man!]

Pairing: Producer/Music Major! Han Jisung x Photographer! fem! reader

Genre: NSFW! Smut; non idol au, college au, strangers to lovers

Warnings: Mature Content! language, mentions of homicide (no one actually dies!), oral sex (m. rec) (yes again), exhibitionism

Chapter Word Count: 4.2k words

Taglist: @hyunjeongins @seungstarss @es-kay-zee @hyunjinsplaything @formidxble @freckledquokka @lbxgsunshine @cartierbin @solistired @rainbowmagicpixecorn @http-hyxnjxn @dwaebinnie @gothmingguk @minniehohos

Unable to tag: @kayannainsworth19

(want to be added? send an ask or a dm! <3)

“You’re evil,” Jisung pouted, pulling down on his oversized shirt to cover his still semi-hard on as the two of you walked down the hall. You snickered, enjoying the way he walked almost painfully.

“Sorry,” you grinned. “But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

“For you!” he cried. He leaned closer to your ear and hissed quietly, “You’re not the one who has a boner!” You quickened your pace, turning your head to throw a wink and a kiss. Jisung grumbled, awkwardly waddling faster to catch up to you. “Minx. You evil she-devil of a minx!”

“Hey, is it my fault you get horny easily?”

“Yes! It’s you, for fucks sake! Have you seen yourself?” he huffed. “You’re on my mind 24/7, do you even know how much you affect me?”

Your heart raced. You rolled your eyes and laughed him off, hoping that he wouldn’t notice your flustered expression. Scoffing playfully, you said, “Now that sounds like a you problem, doesn’t it?”

“Y/n~! Stop!” he whined.

You briefly glanced at his reddened face and sighed. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” You were about to enter the canteen until Jisung grabbed your wrist.

“I know how you can make it up,” he said with a somewhat timid look. He took a deep breath before stating more boldly. “Go on a date with me.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Wh-what?”

“Let’s go on a date. After school. Tonight.” Jisung stared at you with a newfound determination meanwhile your face grew hotter and hotter by the second. You stared at his reddened face, contemplating, before sighing.

“What time?”

“Oh, what? Seriously?” he gaped. “Holy shit. YES!” He threw his fists up in the air, hollering. “Oh my God, fuck yeah!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he rejoiced, despite the slight embarrassment you felt from the scene he was causing. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you camly shushed him with a smile. “Sorry, I was just—wow. I really landed a date with the hottest person I know,” he chuckled sheepishly as he rubbed the top of his fluffy blond hair.

You giggled, moving his hand away from his head to hold it instead. “Better show up all dolled up for me, pretty boy.”

“Pff, I always look good, Y/n. What’re you talking about?” Jisung smirked, obnoxiously holding his head up high. You rolled your eyes at his playful arrogance.

“Watch it. I can change my mind anytime.”

“I know you won’t.” He brought your entwined hands up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. The rate of your heart beat increased, body tingling in adoration. Jisung smiled, letting go of your hand. “Gotta go now, I need to work on some stuff with Chan and Changbin today, but I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yup, see you soon!” You waved goodbye as Jisung walked away. He was only 5 steps in when he turned around and started walking backwards to speak.

“Tonight’s gonna be a surprise! Just be ready by 6, okay?” he called out.

“Okay!” You watched his retreating figure until he was halfway out of the hall. You walked happily into the canteen, thinking about your date with Jisung.

‘5:56pm’

It’s been 5 minutes since you’ve been mindlessly brushing the ends of your hair. Placing the brush back down onto your coffee table, you stood up to check your outfit on the reflection of the blackened TV screen for the umteenth time, bending down to sweep off any dust from your flowy pants. Now, you weren’t typically the type to obsess over your appearance, but tonight is certainly an exception, right? Grabbing the lip balm in your bag, you slathered on a thin layer of the sweet scented stick, smacking your lips together with a ‘pop’, and placed back inside. A notification went off from your phone. Recognizing the unique ringtone immediately, you hastily bent down to grab it.

1 new message(s) from Hannie Bear 🍯🧸

Hannie Bear 🍯🧸: im outside!

Me: Coming out now!

You rushed to the front door, grabbing your keys and switching off the lights in the living room in the process. You double checked everything in your apartment one last time before leaving.

“Hey.”

You jolted in surprise seeing Jisung leaning on the wall right in front of your door. “What the fuck, Jisung, you scared me!”

“Sorry,” he laughed, standing up straight. “I saw Hyunjin earlier and told him about our date. He looked pretty excited.”

“Yeah?” you said as you turned around to lock your door. “Is that why you were standing in front of my door like a creep?”

You giggled at Jisung’s incredulous expression. “I wouldn’t say ‘like a creep’ but yeah, he’s the reason why I found your apartment.”

“Still sounds like a creeper thing to do,” you teased. “I never told you exactly where I lived, that’s lowkey freaky.”

“Oh, uh...Sorry?”

You walked up to him, smiling at his embarrassed face. “It's okay. You’re cute so I’ll allow it.” Grabbing his hand, you led him to the elevator. “Let’s go?”

Jisung instantly smiled, walking fast so he can be the one leading you instead. “Mhm!”

Instead of driving or taking a taxi, the two of you walked. Not that you mind, at least the night was cool enough for you to not sweat. “So? Where are you taking me first?”

“Hey, didn’t I tell you tonight is a surprise?” Jisung grinned. “No questions, no doubting. Just trust me tonight.”

“Well, for all I know, you might be a murderer luring me out for my last night.”

“Please. If I was a murderer, I would’ve killed Hyunjin and Felix for stealing my cheesecake earlier.”

You snorted. “Wait, you like cheesecake?”

“Yup! And chocolate cake! God, I love those.” He looked at you excitedly. “I think it was my mom who got me into cheesecake? She isn’t the type to like sweets that much but cheesecake is the only dessert she genuinely loves.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I remember my brother and I used to go to the store a lot to buy it for her.”

“Cute,” you giggled. You walked a few more blocks before Jisung stopped you.

“Aaand...We’re here!” You looked past him to see a small Italian restaurant. The inside looked homey, not too extravagant, with only a handful of customers inside. It had a minimalistic vibe that you very much enjoyed.

You couldn't help but chuckle. “Cheesy” you joked. “Were you hoping we would ‘Lady and the Tramp’ this?”

“Oh my God,” he gasped exaggeratedly, “that would've been so cool! But no, I heard from Minho one time that you like pasta, so I did some research and found this comfy, and more importantly, affordable place!”

“Aww,” you cooed. “You did research for me?”

“Psh, of course I did! I wanted to impress you,” he said cockily. “So, are you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh yeah, very much impressed.” You reached over to pat his leather jacket. “Especially with this sexy jacket you’re wearing.” Jisung turned bashful, fumbling with the zipper on his sleeve.

“What? Too much?” he chuckled stiffly. “Changbin actually helped me, believe it or not. He told me you’d find me irresistible if I dressed up like this.”

You took a step back to admire his outfit. From his blond hair nicely styled, to the black ripped jeans he wore that showed off his slender legs, to the runstar hike Converse he wore often. Oh yeah, this man is hot shit, you thought, biting your lip. You looked back up to seeing him fidgeting with his black mock-turtleneck with a flushed face. You giggled, gingerly placing a warm hand on his face so he could face you. “You look good, Sung,” you smiled softly, as opposed to the not-so-innocent thoughts running through your mind. “Changbin’s right, by the way. You do look irresistible.”

You grabbed his hand and dragged him inside. “But to be honest, I find you irresistible no matter what,” you winked flirtatiously, causing him to blush even more and smile giddily. You walked inside the restaurant, instantly catching the faint scent of cinnamon. Ooh Sweet… You stood near the door, waiting for a host to seat you. After 3 minutes, someone finally came by.

“Hello! I apologize for the wait, we’re just slightly short staffed tonight.”

“Felix?” you and Jisung said. Felix’s eyes widened, just realizing it was you two.

“Y/n? Jisung?” he gasped. “Hey! I didn’t know you guys were going out already.”

“We’re, well. Not official yet,” you said. “We’re still in the ‘talking’ stage, right?”

Jisung nodded, humming in agreement. “But this is still a date though.”

“Lit,” Felix cheered, fistbumping Jisung. “I’ll show you to your table now.” Your host led the both of you to the corner of the restaurant. As you sat on the chair, Felix handed you some menus.

“So my bros, I’m Felix, everybody’s favorite little freckled Aussie, and I’ll be your server for tonight.” He bowed like he would during a curtain call of a play.

“Your theatre side is coming out, Felix. Is it intermission now?” Jisung joked. You snorted while Felix rolled his eyes.

“Just give me your drinks for tonight.”

Without looking from the menu, you answered, “Water.”

“Just get me any soda you have, man. Thanks!”

“Aight. I’ll be back in 2 minutes to get your orders.” Felix walked back to the host stand to seat another set of customers. You sat in silence, skimming through your options on the menu.

“Didn’t know Felix worked here,” Jisung announced.

You shrugged. “Me neither. I guess that’s why he’s been so busy.” Another wave of silence hit the both of you. You calmly looked at the food presented on the pamphlet. However, Jisung couldn’t take the quietness.

“Remember that photography assignment you’ve been working on?” he paused, waiting for your acknowledgment. You hummed, making eye contact with him. “How is it?”

You grunted, stretching your back. “Honestly. It’s a lot harder than I thought,” you sighed. “I’ve taken countless photos already but none of them seem to resonate within me. I feel so...”

“Trapped? Blocked?”

You stared at him, the mood now oddly serious. “Yeah...Nothing seems to feel right. It’s like I’m missing something.”

“Man, I feel you,” Jisung sighed. “Lately I’ve been feeling that too. You know how many songs I’ve trashed cause they didn’t sound the way I wanted it to?”

“The life of an artist, am I right?” you joked tiredly. He nodded, patting your hand empathetically. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Felix walking back to your table. “Oh shit, Felix is coming back. Hurry up and decide what to get!”

Pain. That was all the two of you could feel.

Your head was on the table, clutching your full stomach. You looked up to see Jisung blankly staring up at the ceiling. Is he still breathing?

All of a sudden, he looked down at you, a smile beginning to form from the corners of his mouth. “You too?”

You groaned, the pain in your stomach coming back. “Why did we order so much goddamn food?”

“Go big or go home,” he weakly cried out, raising his fists up. You laughed in amusement, regretting it immediately after when your stomach started to ache again.

“Holy crap, we’re gonna die in here.”

“‘Least we’re dying happy?”

“Is—shit...A-are guys okay?” Felix asked, worriedly. The sight of your empty eyes greatly concerned him.

“Just had too much food. We’re good,” Jisung answered, giving him a thumbs up.

“Barely,” you muttered as you slowly lifted your head up.

“I wanted to ask if you guys wanted dessert but nevermind…” he eyed you both. You and Jisung made eye contact together before looking back at your friend.

“What’s the special?” you both asked simultaneously.

“Nuh uh. I’m not about to be responsible for your deaths. Go home!”

You pouted. “Come on, Felix. Don’t you love us?”

“Yeah, bro! We can take it, let’s go!”

“If I go to jail for potential homicide, I swear to God,” he sighed. “Fine. The special for tonight is a chocolate cheesecake sprinkled with shreds of Belgian chocolate.”

Both your eyes lit up. You looked back at each other as if you were speaking telepathically. Chocolate cheesecake?

“I’ll get you both only one slice!” Felix scolded. “If you guys need to puke, the restroom is down the hall behind you to your left.” Your freckled friend walked away, into the kitchen, as he glanced back at your drained forms.

“Gosh, now we’re really gonna die in here,” you whispered.

Jisung snorted as he hung his head back over the chair, “At least I’m dying with you.” You stared at his limp figure for a while before feeling the urge to take a picture. Grabbing your bag from the chair, you dug for your phone, finding it, then pulled it out. You swiped to the camera screen and took some candid photos of Jisung. “Hey, hey! Do it again!”

You looked up to see him pouting. “I know I’m handsome but if you wanted to take some pictures, you gotta tell me!” he said, sitting up and fixing his hair. You rolled your eyes, scoffing in amusement.

“Fine. Smile!”

Jisung smiled, winking as he threw up a peace sign. You took two pictures before looking up. “Okay, do something else now.” Now he pointed his index finger and thumb out, placing it under his chin. He winked again, now smiling with his teeth. Then, switching to another pose; he puffed his cheeks, hands cupping his face with his lips pursed. “One more.”

He switched from a cute pose to morphing his face into an ugly one. You laughed, “Gross!” The two of you took a couple more fun pictures together.

“Wow, I’m so handsome. Look at that,” he said. You were about to reply when you saw Felix walking back up to your table.

“Okay, bad news guys. I for real didn’t plan this, but we ran out of dessert.”

“Aww, seriously?” Jisung pouted, looking up at Felix.

He hissed, rubbing Jisung’s back. “Yeah, sorry guys. I guess chocolate cheesecake is in high demand here.”

You watched Jisung frown deepen more, slightly feeling bad. “We can go out to buy some, if you want, Sung,” you offered, holding his hand. He turned his hand so that he was able to hold it properly.

Sighing, he said whilst chuckling to lighten up his mood, “Nah. This is probably a sign for us to stop eating.” He let go of your hand, much to your dismay, and faced Felix. “It’s alright, dude. Maybe next time!”

“I feel bad,” Felix muttered. “I’ll make it up to you guys next time, promise!”

“It’s okay, Lix, it’s not your fault,” you said. “We’ll just get the check now then.”

Felix reached into his apron. “Yeah, here it is,” he said, handing you the black bill holder before walking away. “Sorry, again!”

As You were reaching for your bag to grab your wallet, Jisung stopped you. “I’m paying,” he announced. You gave him a stank look before swatting his hand away.

“I can pay too, you know?”

He refuted. “No, I’m a gentleman. That means me paying for our meal is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Equal rights.”

“My treat.”

The both of you tightly gripped onto the bill, death staring at one another. Neither were going to back down anytime soon. You stared hard at his face as he did the same.

“Okay, fine. Let’s compromise. We split the bill. Deal?”

Jisung hummed in thought. He was about to disagree until you pitched in. “I’ll let you pay a little extra?”

“Deal.”

You placed your split payment inside the bill holder and handed it to Felix. “Thanks guys, come back again soon!”

“Later, dude!”

“Bye, Lix!”

You walked out the restaurant, the bell on the door ringing as you left. You were about to take the path to your house until Jisung stopped you. “Park,” he whispered. “Let’s go to the park.”

You blinked, slightly off guard. “Okay…”

The walk to the park wasn’t too far, literally right across from the restaurant. It was a peaceful night, the cool breeze brushed past your bodies as you walked. Silence filled the air between the both of you; nothing but the wind and the sound of dirt crunching under your shoes was heard. The mood was...romantic. There was no one but the two of you in the area.

Your bodies brushed past one another every once in a while—more specifically, your hands. You wanted to say something when Jisung beat you to it. He shyly slid his hand into yours, watching you from the corner of his eyes, and smiled when you entwined your fingers together.

“Tonight was fun,” you said softly. You leaned closer to his body to rest your head on his shoulder. Jisung tightened his grip on your hand.

“Me too,” he whispered. “I just wish I can spend more time with you.”

“You see me everyday though?”

“Yeah, but like, I mean just you and me, alone; no one else. I—” he inhaled sharply. “I’m greedy, aren’t I?”

You looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“I want to be with you all the fucking time, Y/n. It hurts when I’m without you. I feel alive when we’re together. It’s like, I feel like my world would stop if I don’t see you.” You were stunned. You could only listen quietly to his rant.

“God, I sound so possessive, that’s not what I was trying to aim for,” he panicked. “I don’t care if you’re with the guys, or anyone else, I know you're not the type to pull shit like that; I trust you. I just—fuck, why is this so hard?”

He stopped walking all of a sudden and pulled you away from the path, leading you 7 feet into the trees. In any normal circumstance, you would’ve been terrified. However, this was Jisung—and you knew it, somewhere deep down, that he would never do anything to hurt you. He let go of your hand and faced you. “Jisung?”

His heart pounded erratically, he didn’t know if he was on the verge of getting a heart attack. He felt overwhelmed. Having you standing right in front of him felt like a dream. He took a deep inhale in hopes of calming himself down. “I meant what I said this morning.”

“Wh-wha…?”

“You’re in my mind 24/7, Y/n. Everyday, I always think about you to the point I’m starting to think I’m going insane. Every text, every call, every time we talk, my heart feels like it might pop out. I can’t focus and I don’t know what to do about it!” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Every song I’ve written was about you. Every time I look at my phone, I feel so disappointed when I don’t see a text from you.”

Jisung steps closer to you, nearly pinning you to the tree behind you. “You’re my muse, Y/n. I-I don’t really know exactly what my heart wants but all I know is that, you’re the person I want to spend my entire life with. I think…” he paused to take another deep breath. You could feel your own heart stopping, blood rushing up to your face. “I love you, Y/n!” Jisung declared loudly.

You didn’t know if the loud sound of a heart thumping was yours or his. You were stunned, happy, and scared; millions of emotions were racing within you. Not finding the proper words for yourself, you grabbed his face and kissed him. Jisung whimpered in shock, not really expecting that reaction from you. However, he quickly pulled himself together and kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your waist. You stayed like that until the burning in your chest overpowered the burn of your hearts. You both gasped heavily, taking back in the air you lost.

“You know,” your warm breath tickled his lips. “I never did take it up for the boner I gave you this morning.”

Jisung blushed, remember the embarrassment from earlier. “Yes you did? Our date is—”

“Then this is your gift.” You slowly kneeled in front of him, caressing his thighs as you went down. Jisung watched in shock.

“I—whoa. H-Here? I-in public? Y/n, that’s—”

“Do you not want this?” you looked up, wanting his confirmation. Jisung’s breath hitched, he never would’ve thought he’d be able to see you like this just yet. He bit his lip and nodded. You smiled, kissing his hip, before undoing his pants. You slowly pulled his jeans and underwear down to his knees, his cock springing up and slapping his stomach. You found yourself drooling, finally seeing his cock in person.

Jisung groaned, the cool air hitting his dick. “Fuck…” You licked your lips then took him whole, catching him off guard. He moaned, his hand now gripping onto your hair. “Holy shit, Y/n!”

You bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, as you pumped whatever your mouth couldn’t take in. The man above you let out heavy breaths, trying his best not to moan so loud. That was, in fact, proven to be difficult for your mouth was just heavenly. He rested his forehead onto the tree, looking down at you. Regret filled Jisung’s chest, greeted with the erotic sight of your cheeks puffed out, his cock sliding in and out of your pretty mouth. He moaned loudly into his arm. You moved your other hand to fondle his balls, causing Jisung to buck his hip into your mouth.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned. “So good—ah! F-Feels so good, shit!” He threw his head back, covering his mouth to mask his noises. His ragged breathing sounded absolutely delicious. You took his dick halfway out of your mouth, stopping right as you felt only his tip. You sucked harshly on it, tongue swirling around it until you decided to play with his slit.

Jisung roughly pulled on your hair, moaning so loud that it almost echoed through the trees. “Y-y/n…” he whimpered. You looked up to see tears brimming his eyes. You giggled, laughing even more when the vibrations from your vocal cords hit him all in the right places.

“Feels good, baby boy?” you briefly asked, immediately going back to his cock after. He nodded, pushing his hips closer to your face, almost making you choke.

“Y-yes, m-mommy.” A wave of arousal hit your core. You could feel your juices seeping right through your panties. The nickname had you moaning, much to Jisung’s pleasure as well. “Fuck! Mommy, more!”

You continued sucking and playing with the slit on his head as you pumped his shaft with one hand and groped his ball with the other. The higher Jisung’s voice raised, you knew the closer he was.

“Close, baby boy?” you giggled. He nodded, hips no fucking into your hand.

“Yes! Oh my God, I’m so fucking close, mommy!” he stuttered. “Please! Let me cum in your mouth!”

“Such a good boy, of course I’ll let you.” You attached your mouth back into his dick, moving your head once again to bring him closer to his high.

“Holy—FUCK!” Jisung moaned, his hand back onto his mouth to control his voice. His body shook as he released his creamy essence into your mouth. Your tongue swiped across his cock to lap up the rest of his juices. His and your unstable breathing was the only thing that could be heard now. Out of courtesy, you tucked him in back into his pants and stood up.

“Wh-What about you?” he asked breathlessly. You shook your head as you patted his head.

“Nevermind about me. You’ve made me happy enough,” you grinned. “When you’re okay again, we can go back home.”

“So...Is this the part where I’m supposed to kill you?” Jisung laughed breathlessly.

The dim lights of the city were nowhere near as bright as your faces. The two of you walked, hand-in-hand, as slowly as you could, in hopes of the night never ending. But alas, the both of you had a morning class the next day. Jisung walked you all the way to your apartment door, telling you it was only for ‘safety measures’. What a liar.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” You said as you unlocked your front door. Jisung grinned, pecking the hand he held.

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow? Make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you playfully rolled your eyes. Letting go of his hand, you finally opened your door and stepped inside.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You turned around to face him. “Yeah?”

Jisung stood there with a smile wider than before. “I love you.”

You giggled cutely. “Me too,” you said as you walked back to him to kiss his lips. “Goodnight, baby boy.”

“Goodnight...mommy.” He laughed.

You rolled your eyes, “Hurry and go home already!” He turned around and started walking to the elevator, calling out one final ‘I love you!’ before he walked inside. It was painfully obvious that he was trying to act cool for you, but the bounce in his walk made him look like he was skipping gleefully. You laughed, walking back inside your apartment.

Inside the elevator, Jisung pulled out his phone to text someone.

Me: hey, minho?

when i finally get married to y/n...

please be our best man! :D

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER] 📱 [NEXT CHAPTER]

#stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz smut #skz fanfic #han jisung smut #han jisung scenarios #han jisung imagines #han jisung x reader #Late Night Indulges

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longeyelashedtragedy · 5 years ago

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here have mare liberum part 1

The pub looks unbearably crowded tonight—with languages, with ale spilled, with fights about to break out.

Dejan knows it well—when the barometer drops as fast as it did this morning, anything is possible.

But Dejan’s not there to fight, not this time. He’s heard a certain Egyptian by way of Liverpool is in town.

He turns around before going through the door. No more Raki and no more Mario. Well, he should have figured. Raki’s a fine friend. steady as the shore, true as the blue sky, and he’ll never get so drunk he pisses his pants, but. When it comes to men doing certain acts with other men, he doesn’t have the stomach for it.

Strange, that. He’s missing so much.

He’s held the door open for too long, lost in his thoughts as he is, and the winds howling up the street from the water are making every lamp in the place splutter. It won’t make him any friends plunging the place into darkness, so he steps inside and kicks the door closed with his boot.

“Good evening, sinners!”

“Dejan!”

“DEJAN LOVREN! It’s him!”

It is good to be loved and wanted here.

He stands up on a rickety chair and waves his arms. “Hey, look at me when I’m fucking talking!” he yells.

“You’re always fucking talking, Dejan!” comes a voice from the back of the room, and the place erupts in laughter, but a good kind.

“Alright, except for that fucker in the back, next round’s on me! Let no one say Dejan Lovren isn’t a generous man!”

Only one group of men in the room isn’t giving a hearty cheer at his announcement. He walks over to check them out and as the sagging floor gives into his boots he sees he doesn’t know any of them, hasn’t seen any of them around. They’re hunched around their round wooden table, all dressed in all black, mumbling in Italian. Well, Dejan thinks, maybe they’re just not happy to see me ‘cause they don’t know me. He’ll give them a chance.

“GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN!” Dejan howls. So he’s near drunk off his ass already. But he still won’t be starting any fights. “Who wants a drink? On me?”

They look up at him, all at once, giving him unpleasant stare after unpleasant stare, and now he does feel ready to fight until he locks eyes with one of them and he’s nearly thrown off his feet. This one has messy dark curls, tangled like a fishing net, and his eyes are such a beautiful, deep shade of brown that Dejan feels flushed, and then warm, even though a cold breeze blows in every time the door opens.

Dejan tries to fix it. Get back to himself. This place is his, better act like it. “Want a drink, pretty boy?” he says, grinning and winking. Doing one of these things will get him a man, guaranteed. Doing both at once—the man he gets will do anything for him by the end of the evening. “What’s your favorite? I’ll buy you two, because you’re so nice to look at.”

The whole table bursts into sharp laughter.

“You should leave us now,” says the guy next to the staring one, and fuck, Dejan swears his teeth are sharper than normal teeth when he speaks; they look like a shark’s. It gives him the strange urge to cross himself. He hasn’t done that in years. “We don’t want you around.”

If anyone else in the place said that to him, Dejan’s fist would be crashing through his mouth, making as many teeth as possible rain down onto the table. But this whole group is making the wood floor feel like it’s rocking under Dejan’s feet, buckling under his weight. The Atlantic at its stormiest is more steady than this floor feels.

He stares at each of them one last time. Their eyes are all narrowed at him, and one of them has a strange patch of skin on his cheeks that Dejan suddenly thinks looks just like a fish’s scales. He wonders who they are and what game they’re playing here. He’s met many a criminal since he first set foot on a ship. Maybe even been one himself a time or two. That’s not what these men are about.

“Did you hear him?” asks the man with the scaly face. “He told you to fuck off. It is for your own good.” He smiles, showing teeth so stained they look green under the soft light of the oil lamps.

“Yeah? It’d be my pleasure. HEY!” Dejan howls at the man keeping bar. He’s new here; Dejan doesn’t know his name yet, but he will. “Two drinks for everyone but this table. On me.”

He thinks for a moment about all the money he’s running out of, but then the door bursts open and nearly the entire crew of the Anfield stumbles in, and his eyes, and his poor old heart, are too busy looking for a head of thick, black curls in the crowd to think any further about money or the Italians muttering around their round table.

It’s later, much later, and Dejan is sitting at the bar with a drunk Mo giggling helplessly into his shoulder.

“You have a little too much to drink and the truth comes out, hey, Mo? You are in love with me, aren’t you, Mo?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Dejan.” Dejan listens to how Mo slurs his once-unfamiliar name. Deyyyyyyyyan. Well, it’s familiar to him now.

“Oh, you wouldn’t? Well, you just did.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. You just did. You said, I love you, Deyyyyyyyyan Lovren. You are the captain of my heart. You steer it through sun and moon, calm and storm.”

“Maybe that first part. But that last part, I would never say such a thing.”

“Well, maybe I wish you would.” Dejan turns and kisses him on the lips. God, but he can’t wait to rent a room upstairs later and bury his cock inside his boy. It’s been longer than he’d like, and no one else he’s met recently has been the kind of man he wants. “Maybe I’m in love with you, Mo, can you believe that?

“I am not so sure a man like you could fall in love.”

Dejan’s stomach twists. I can, more than you know. I did, once. He takes a big drink from his mug of ale. “Oh, but I can. Let me prove it to you. I will sing a song just for you. Think of me as a siren, luring you to my rocks.”

He clears his throat and sings that old tune he learned in his years on the Anfield. But he changes the words a little, to suit his needs.

“What do you do with a drunk Mo Salah,

What do you do with a drunk Mo Salah,

Early in the morning?

Ox laughs behind him. It’s so good to see his men from the Anfield, every single one of them. “…’s a good one, Dej,” he says, hitting Dejan on the back as he passes by. Dejan misses the Anfield. Life was better, then.

He clears his throat and continues.

“Fuck him in the arse until he’s sober,

Suck his pretty cock until he’s—”

Someone’s elbow digs into his shoulder, and he jumps. “Hey, fuck off. I’m singing to my boy—”

The intruder slips around to face him, and Dejan nearly slides off his stool in surprise. It’s the man from before, the staring one with the deep, dark eyes. Up close, those eyes look a little sleepy, but no less intense for that.

“I like your song,” he says, smirking. “But I would also like those drinks you promised.”

In this room of languages, in his head that can speak many, Dejan understands each of the stranger’s words so fully, and yet it still takes him a moment to realize the stranger has spoken to him in his native tongue.

“You’re Croatian?” he asks.

“Yes, I am. From Zadar, originally. I’m with an Italian crew these days, so it is nice to meet someone from home.”

Dejan isn’t sure where home is anymore. Everything he’d thought was home is now gone, but all the liquor warming his insides is making it hard for him to want to remember this sadness. “How’d you know where I’m from?”

“Asked one of your boy’s friends.” The stranger grins and the grin softens and warms his stare. He smells—it’s the strangest thing, but he smells of salt and of seaweed. Not the way the sea rests on a man’s hands and in the folds of his clothes, but the pure ocean. It is making the hairs on Dejan’s arms stand on end. He doesn’t like it, but there’s nothing not to like about it, so he doesn’t understand. He lets his eyes wander across the stranger’s face, trying to memorize it in case the man runs into him somewhere else and tries to start trouble. “So are you still buying drinks?”

“Not for you, Mr. Zadar. Missed that chance when your friend told me to fuck off.” Mo’s breath is warm on his arm. He gets like this when he’s had too much—so soft, so sleepy. Dejan’s just about ready to buy one more round for the pub and then take him upstairs for the night.

“But you called me pretty.” The stranger stretches out a long finger and rests it on Dejan’s lips. “Open up—you have a little drop of ale—don’t waste it.”

He grins again as he feeds Dejan the booze that’s spilled down his face and Dejan is relieved to see his teeth aren’t sharklike, but God, the mix of his eyes and smile and the finger tracing over the soft skin on the inside of Dejan’s lips is making his cock twitch with need against his pants. Dejan thinks, suddenly, wildly, of taking them both back to his room tonight—fucking deep into Mo’s hot mouth while sucking this strange man’s fingers. Dejan feels like the stranger would laugh the whole time.

“Hey, who’s this?” Mo asks.

The stranger leans back and scratches his chest, pulling the collar of his shirt down far as he does. Dejan sees what looks like the top of a cross tattooed on the man’s skin. He’s comforted by this. A man of God, hmmm? Well, someone like that probably couldn’t do too much harm to anyone.

“Just saying hello,” the stranger says. He turns back to Dejan. “You should take him and put him to sleep. What’s your name?”

“Dejan.”

“A nice name. I knew a Dejan or two growing up in Zadar.”

“And what’s yours?”

The stranger doesn’t offer it. He laughs and puts his lips to Dejan’s ear.

“You really should take this sweet boy upstairs before he falls asleep,” he whispers. “If you want to buy me that drink sometime…you’ll be able to find me.”

And he’s gone, walking back to the round table on slender legs that stumble just a bit.

Dejan can’t tell whether he wants to grab the stranger by the curls and drag him upstairs to his bed, or hope to never see him again. “Hey, Ox. Ox!” he yells toward a table of his men from the Anfield.

“Yes, Dej? Asking if we want another round, are you?”

“Not yet. Do you know anything about that table over there?” He nods his head in the direction of the Italians.

“Oh, them? Yeah, a bit. They’re here in town on the Neroverdi.”

“Never heard of it,” Dejan says.

“They’re docked right to the Anfield. They seem unsavory, you know? Not so friendly. Between you and me, I wish they weren’t sitting in here with us.”

“Yeah, I’ll say. Hey,” he says, turning back to the man tending bar, “one more round for everyone, alright? And I’ll take a room upstairs.”

“We have some rooms with bunks,” the man says. Someone in the back has whipped out a fiddle, and people are starting to bang their fists on the tables. Everyone except those miserable fucks from the Neroverdi. “But I’ll guess you’re looking for just one bed tonight.”

Mo is snoring loud enough to wake up a pharaoh. Oh…That one’s funny, that one’s fucking funny. He’ll have to tell his boy that one in the morning.

From the sound of the wind outside Dejan doubts they’ll be leaving the city tomorrow. It’s howling like something…like a mourning woman. Like him when he’d heard news of Davor…He tightens his elbow around the Egyptian sleeping in its crook and kisses his curls, eyes still closed but cock getting hard. He won’t be needing much rest tonight; this wind will bring a gale that’ll keep the Vatreni stranded in the city an extra day for sure. Captain Dalić is bold and fearless, but not stupid. Maybe he’ll wake Mo up and demand his mouth again.

This city is always humid, but suddenly there is a new feeling in the air...something tickling his skin, each hair on his arms standing up. It’s not a bad feeling, but—

Something is telling him not to open his eyes. Not to wake Mo up. Not to move at all.

Just then he hears a voice in his ear, singing a song he hasn’t heard since—well, fuck. His mother used to sing it for him and Davor, years and years and years ago when putting them to sleep. This voice sounds nothing like his mother’s.

It is low, a man’s voice, but it is soft and sweet, and somehow leaves a taste in his mouth like fruit.

You are a rosy orange!

Were you born on an orange tree?

No, I was not born on an orange tree,

but my dearest mother bore me.

I was cradled in the beech tree.

Stormy winds rocked me, from the—

“Who’s there?” he calls out. Mo mumbles something, warm against his bare chest, and stirs in his sleep.

He hears a soft laugh in response and fuck, fuck not moving, fuck trying to stay still. He crosses himself before he opens his eyes. Help me, God, don’t let it end like this! I know I’ve sinned, I know I’ve gone against you, but there’s a demon here I swear I’ll—I’ll—

He opens his eyes and the room is exactly as it had been before.

He springs out of bed and checks behind the curtains and opens the tiny wardrobe. Of course, there’s no one there.

The window is cracked open and the winds whip the ends of the long curtains against the wall. There’s a rhythm to the way they hit the plaster. Like a clock ticking, like footsteps coming toward the room. He stays awake till morning.

#mare liberum #fic saga #preview!!!#No Homo Sailor Ivan is the best part of the fic if we're being real with ourselves #Be Careful Dejan~#we'll see how much I change by the time I actually post the fic #ps. I love rowdy sailor deki

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jmsa1287 · 7 years ago

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A Year in Review: The Best 100 Songs of 2017 (50-1)

The latest entry into my Year in Review feature. Check out The Best 100 Songs of 2017 (100-51) by clicking here. Below, find 50-1!

050. St. Vincent – “New York”

049. Broken Social Scene – “Hug of Thunder”

048. DJDS – “Trees on Fire” feat. Amber Mark, Marco Mckinnis

047. Charli XCX – “Roll with Me”

046. Jens Lekman – “What’s That Perfume That You Wear?”

045. Rita Ora – “Your Song”

044. Fergie – “Enchante (Carine)” feat. Axl Jack

043. MGMT – “Little Dark Age”

042. Blondie – “Long Time”

041. TLC – “Way Back” feat. Snoop Dogg

040. LCD Soundsystem – "call the police”

039. Sampha – “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano”

038. Jessie Ware – “Midnight”

037. Julia Michaels – “Issues”

036. LANY – “Super Far”

035. The Killers – “Run for Cover”

034. Cashmere Cat – “Quit” feat. Ariana Grande

033. Nite Jewel – “2 Good 2 Be True”

032. Tinashe – “Flame”

031. The War on Drugs – “Holding On”

030. Dirty Projectors – “Cool Your Heart” feat. DAWN

029. Kali Uchis – “Tyrant” feat. Jorja Smith

028. Mura Masa – “1 Night” feat. Charli XCX

027. Phoenix – “J-Boy”

026. Terror Jr – “Death Wish”

025. Danny L Harle – “1UL”

024. Lorde – “Green Light”

023. P!nk – “Beautiful Trauma”

022. Pale Waves – “There’s a Honey”

021. Paramore – “Hard Times”

020. Fever Ray – “To the Moon”

019. The xx – “I Dare You”

018. BLACKPINK – “As If It’s Your Last”

017. Cam – “Diane”

016. P!nk – “What About Us”

015. HAIM – “I Want You Back”

014. Carly Rae Jepsen – “Cut to the Feeling”

013. Charli XCX – “Boys”

012. Lorde – “Supercut”

011. Destroyer – “Tinseltown Swimming in Blood”

010. Miley Cyrus – “Malibu”

Miley Cyrus was one of the big pop stars of late to go back-to-basics (think: Lady Gaga's "Joanne," Kesha's "Rainbow"). After capturing the zeitgeist in 2013 with provocative singles like "Wrecking Ball" and "We Can't Stop," Miley stripped things down with her new unplugged country album "Younger Now." That LP's first single "Malbiu" showcases the adult side of Miley, whose voice has never sounded better. A breezy and delightfully sweet ballad - one that never steps into the realm of preciousness - "Malibu" celebrates rekindling a love with effortless but poignant songwriting (she wrote the song in an Uber on the way to a taping of "The Voice," where she serves as a judge) that is also an ode to sunny Southern California.

009. Rita Ora – “Anywhere”

It's been a long, tough road for Rita Ora. She's never released an album in the U.S. (though she has great success in her native U.K.), nor has she had much traction with her previous excellent singles in the States. Unfortunately, that's not going to change with "Anywhere," arguably her best song ever, which has yet to chart in the U.S. Nevertheless, it's a high-quality dance-pop banger and it's the perfect antidote to the vile year that was 2017: A euphoric 3-minute and 35-second form of escapism that comes with one of the best pre-choruses in recent memory.

008. Terror Jr – “Caramel”

Just like the candy, "Caramel," the single from the mysterious pop group Terror Jr, is gooey and sticky. It's a hazy balled that references depression, drug use, gay rights and other hot button issues. Speaking with Thump, singer Lisa Terror said the song is "a reaction to the surreal world in 2017." With a minimal production, "Caramel" lures you in with finger snaps and slinky synths and Lisa's manipulated vocals, resulting in a captivating and hypotonic track.

007. Taylor Swift – “Delicate”

Taylor Swift's latest album "reputation" may be her weakest effort since her 2006 debut, but it still comes with some stellar gems. Produced by Max Martin and Shellback, "Delicate" is one of Swift's sexiest songs to date and her most mature. Here, Swift actually swears and sings about drinking as she cautiously pursues a new love interest - she's simultaneously confident and vulnerable. But what propels "Delicate" into one of Swift's best works is its simple sonic construction; a sensual wall of synths and powerful drums that enter halfway through the song, kicking it into a high-gear emotional drive.

006. Phoenix – “Fior Di Latte”

French band Phoenix's new album "Ti Amo" is an ode to summers in Italy and Italian disco. Its highlight "Fior Di Latte" is a glistening groovy jam. Like the Italian cheese itself, the track is a smooth and airy delight that's straightforwardness about making love under the Italian sun complements the track's song construction. The track builds with vibrant bass and singer Thomas Mars's silky vocals, which eventually gives way to a cataclysmic explosion. From one of indie music's most reliable bands, Phoenix's "Fior Di Latte" is a sensual stunner that bursts with light.

005. Selena Gomez – “Bad Liar”

Selena Gomez has low-key been one of the most reliable pop stars of the 21st century. With huge bangers like "Hands to Myself," "Good For You," "Same Old Love," "Come & Get It" and more, Gomez has slayed the charts with undeniable pop gems. For "Bad Liar," Gomez continues her brand of sultry pop, this time unexpectedly sampling the Talking Heads' 1977 single "Psycho Killer." With a funky bass and Gomez's cooing vocals, "Bad Liar" is cool and clever song; the most daring effort from the star yet, giving hope Gomez has further tricks up her sleeve.

004. Lorde – “Homemade Dynamite”

"Homemade Dynamite" wasn't an immediate favorite from Lorde's sophomore album "Melodrama." Unlike the instant hits "Supercut" and "The Louvre," both brilliant euphoric bops, "Homemade Dynamite" is weird. But over time, the track slowly revealed itself, exploring complex emotions with interesting production and slinky synth-work, courtesy of Jack Antonff. With Lorde's signature whispering, "Homemade Dynamite" is the perfect concoction of all of her best traits: A radio pop song that's bent just a little too much, making it fascinating and innovative while still completely accessible. Awesome, right?

003. SOPHIE – “It’s Okay to Cry”

SOHPIE's "It's Okay Cry" was a coming-out of sorts for the otherwise enigmatic British musician/producer. The song's accompanying music video was the first time SOPHIE made her official appearance, with the camera up close and centered on her. (At the same time, SOPHIE released a press release stating she prefers she/her pronouns.) The song is a queer anthem - a stirring ballad that's restrained for SOPHIE, who's known for her spastic and glitch-y synths. With honest lyrics ("The pain inside increases / It takes more strength to hold it in then to give in and surrender") and a massive buildup that erupts with a thunderous clap, "It's Okay to Cry" hits the reset button, making SOPHIE truly one of the most interesting artists to watch.

002. Kesha – “Praying”

There's no better song than Kesha's "Praying" to be the anthem for the abysmal year that was 2017. Her comeback single took aim at disgraced producer Dr. Lukas, who she accused of sexual assault (he has denied all claims). Kesha has been in court battles with the producer and her record label, forced into a music limbo. But when "Praying" unexpectedly dropped in July, it not only an excellent song that showed off Kesha's vocals, but it was also a battle cry, with Kesha throwing down the gauntlet. It established her as a new musician - the "TiK ToK" party days are behind her (remember, she's dropped the "$" in her name)- and posited her as a pop singer-songwriter. "Praying" isn't scornful or angry. Instead, it's full of hope and forgiveness with Kesha taking the high road: "I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin' / I hope your soul is changin', changin' / I hope you find your peace," she screams during the song's breathtaking chorus.

001. Lana Del Rey - “Love”

No current pop artist has struggled with today's political climate more than Lana Del Rey. With songs like "National Anthem," lyrics like "Be young, be dope be proud / Like an American," and music videos showing her waving the U.S. flag, the elusive singer built her career from American pastiche. But that changed this year after Donald Trump entered the White House. Not only did she cast a witchy spell on him, but she also banned the American flag from her shows, and penned a track about the threats of North Korea. To say that Del Rey become more aware of her surroundings this year would be an understatement. With "Love," the first single off her excellent album "Lust for Life," the chanteuse gets nostalgic, looking back at the music that propelled her into stardom, and turns the track into an ode to her fans: "Look at you kids with your vintage music/You're part of the past, but now you're the future," she sings over a string arrangement echoing the music from her debut "Born to Die." It's a powerful and earnest song (something rare these days in pop music) where Del Rey winks at the Beach Boys and, most importantly, give hope to her millions of fans: "It doesn't matter if I'm not enough / For the future or the things to come / 'Cause I'm young and in love / Don't worry, baby."

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biofunmy · 6 years ago

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Retracing Truman Capote’s Moment in the Mediterranean Sun

Long before the alcohol and depression, the drug-fueled nights at New York’s Studio 54 and the promise of a Proustian novel that would never fully materialize, Truman Capote was heralded as one of the country’s most promising young writers. It was this Capote who met fellow writer Jack Dunphy in 1948. The two would end up devoted companions for 35 years. But first, Capote needed to win him over. So he hatched a plan: they would head to Italy.

After brief stopovers in Venice, Florence, Rome and Naples, the couple headed to Ischia, a volcanic island off the coast of Naples. They trekked by horse-drawn buggy, with children clinging to their carriage, and bleating goats scurrying past, to Forio, then a small fishing village, where they stayed for nearly three months.

That time would reverberate: It cemented the still fragile legs of the new relationship, and it established for Capote a routine that would serve him well — escaping to the Mediterranean to write.

“Jack was very much part of the equation. He wanted to travel, and Truman wanted to please him,” said Gerald Clarke, author of the authoritative “Capote: A Biography.”

“But Truman was also pleasing himself. Though he came from a small town in Alabama, he loved New York, loved it so much that he found it hard to write when it was so tempting to go out on the town,” Mr. Clarke told me. “New York was a kind of addiction. He realized that if he wanted to write — and that’s all he wanted to do — he would have to do it elsewhere.”

While Capote would rise to become arguably New York’s greatest literary and social lion of the ’60s, whose iconic Black and White Ball at the Plaza hotel in Manhattan in 1966 would be called the “party of the century,” with boldfaced names from Frank Sinatra to the Maharani of Jaipur mingling behind costume masks, the Capote who bunked in Forio knew his best work could only be done in self-imposed exile.

His time living in the small coastal towns and villages of southern Italy and Spain allowed him to produce a remarkable output that matched his outsized ambition. Last spring and summer, I went in search of these seaside idylls, hoping to retrace a long ago golden boy’s moment in the sun.

On a cool, crisp morning last May, I boarded a ferry from Naples, watching the city’s pastel-colored buildings give way to the blur of glamorous Capri in the distance. An hour and a half later, I pulled into Forio, on Ischia’s western coast, and spotted the Pensione Di Lustro, the couple’s former residence, just opposite the small, palm-tree lined harbor.

“It is the pleasantest pensione in Forio, an interesting bargain, too,” wrote Capote in his 1949 essay “Ischia.” For about $200 a month, they had “two huge rooms with great expanses of tiled floor” overlooking the sea, along with two five-course meals a day.

Ischia’s fortunes have risen markedly over the years, with a thriving tourism scene built on its natural thermal springs. Yet little has changed at the Pensione Di Lustro, where Capote and Dunphy were only the ninth and 10th American guests since the pensione was established, and where the playwright Tennessee Williams also joined them briefly.

No. 3, Capote’s, still looked much as he had described it, a large room with a high, vaulted ceiling, where I could imagine him toiling away on “Summer Crossing,” a previously tossed aside novel that he had once again picked up and was published posthumously in 2005.

In the small blue-and-white tiled kitchen of the 10-room pensione, I found Gioconda Di Lustro, who at 19 at the time of the couple’s stay was their cook and maid, and figured prominently in Capote’s “Ischia” essay. “Gioconda speaks no English, and my Italian is — well, never mind. Nevertheless, we are confidantes,” Capote wrote.

“He was very spirited and always animated,” Ms. Di Lustro told me in Italian, recalling how they would bake together in that very kitchen.

Gray-haired yet still quite sturdy at 88, Ms. Di Lustro now owns the hotel with two daughters, Maria Teresa and Giuseppina Di Lustro. The five-course lunches have been done away with, but that evening, I sat down to a lengthy meal similar to what Capote and Dunphy would have enjoyed — starting with a delicious tomato-and-eggplant risotto and ending with a traditional pastiera cake — all cooked and served by Ms. Di Lustro and her middle-aged daughters. (The cost? Still, as Capote had remarked, “an interesting bargain” at 70 euros, or $79, for dinner and a room that night.)

But Capote did more than just work and eat well in Ischia. He was also mesmerized by the island’s primitive beauty, whose appeal, he wrote in his essay, was in its “straight-dropping volcanic cliffs,” with rocks below like “sleeping dinosaurs.”

Armed with a map dotted with markings made by Ms. Di Lustro and her two daughters of where they thought Capote and Dunphy might have gone, I headed off to see how much of it remained.

On a sloping path toward the sea, where spotted green lizards darted by my feet, I found that I had Cava dell’Isola, a small beach that’s often crowded in summer, all to myself.

But my favorite spot was further south, past small citrus groves heaving with lemons, near the pretty, car-free village of Sant’Angelo. While a number of sprawling thermal parks have sprung up along the island, the hot springs of Sorgeto, frequented since Roman times for its naturally heated waters, remains its most dramatic.

Situated at the bottom of a vertigo-inducing set of steps, its splendor comes all in a rush, with the crashing of the waves amplified by immense cliffs that enclose the bay on three sides. My timing turned out to be off, though — the high tide rendered the waters stone-cold — but wading knee deep into a nearby grotto, I found small pools of steaming hot water, an inkling of Sorgeto’s famed lures.

Capote’s time in Ischia established a productive routine, one that his Random House editor, Robert Linscott, recognized. A year later, Capote and Dunphy headed back to Italy in April, this time to Taormina on Sicily’s eastern coast. But when the editor got wind that Capote wanted to leave the island, Linscott practically forbade him from doing so without a completed book manuscript.

That manuscript about an unlikely group of outcasts hiding out in a treehouse in the Deep South, which Capote wrote in its entirety in the hilltop town of Taormina, would be published as “The Grass Harp” in 1951. Looking closely, glimpses of Capote’s Taormina come through in the book.

These days, the Italian resort town draws both the international jet set and flag-carrying tour guides. But the seaside town to which Capote and Dunphy arrived was far quieter, still recovering from the aftermath of World War II.

On a visit last June, I found Taormina’s small center teeming with crowds, but their numbers dissipated as soon as I walked out of the Porta Messina, the town’s historic northern gateway. Past two more stone arches, I found Villa Britannia, whose young owner, Louisa Vittorio, has a unique claim to Capote’s literary heritage here: Various family members including her father, Nino Vittorio, are among the colorful characters in Capote’s 1951 essay “Fontana Vecchia,” and still live on the same narrow street.

That essay takes its name from Capote and Dunphy’s residence in Taormina, a rose-colored house situated diagonally above Villa Britannia. While Fontana Vecchia is a private residence, long owned by Ms. Vittorio’s cousin, Salvatore Galeano, and not normally open to the public, they gave me a special tour.

And when I stepped out onto its terrace, clung precipitously off the hillside, it struck me: While Capote, as a young boy in Alabama, often escaped with his childhood friend, the writer Harper Lee, to a backyard treehouse — the obvious model for the treehouse in “The Grass Harp” — here, too, perhaps, was another inspiration, a soaring sanctuary far removed from the social demands of his Manhattan life.

At Villa Britannia, I tried to slip into Capote’s writing-and-sea routine, working in the morning on the private terrace of my “Truman Capote” suite, surrounded by cypress trees and their cones, with a view of the Calabrian shores in the distance.

It was hard to peel myself from the exquisite villa and its tiny garden of jacaranda and oleander blooms to go to the sea. But I was rewarded for making the trek downhill — made infinitely easier by cable car, installed in 1992 — with the stunning Isola Bella, Capote’s favorite beach, a curving slip of pebbly shoreline that overlooks a beautiful nature preserve of the same name.

Seven years later and back in New York, Capote stumbled across a headline in this paper — “Wealthy Farmer, 3 of Family Slain” — in November 1959. With the help of his childhood friend, Lee, Capote spent roughly three months in the high plains of western Kansas to research what was originally conceived as a relatively short article for The New Yorker. When that limited scope soon gave way to what would run as four installments in the magazine and become “In Cold Blood,” his “nonfiction novel” much praised for its atmospheric, filmic detail, Capote once again headed across the Atlantic.

With Dunphy by his side and suitcases of typed notes, Capote in April 1960 arrived in Palamós, a vibrant seaside town north of Barcelona long considered a retreat for city dwellers.

On a searingly hot sunny morning in early August, I met Maria Àngels Solé, a tour guide at the Fishing Museum, which offers a “Palamós of Truman Capote” tour most summers.

We walked up the pedestrian-only Carrer Major, the town’s bustling main street, where she pointed out the locations of the shops Capote frequented. Near the port, we found the plaque that marked the location of Capote’s first villa, a five-story apartment complex in its place.

Two of Capote’s other homes are similarly long gone, said Josep Colomer, the longstanding owner of one of Palamós’s most storied and oldest hotels, Hotel Trias. I had arranged to meet him and his wife, Anna Maria Kammüller, in the lobby, where they said Capote often came in the mornings to read his newspapers over a gin martini.

While the town of Palamós is much changed, Castell-Cap Roig, a protected area spread over 2,700 acres of red granite cliffs, towering pine trees and secluded coves, remains much the same. Among its smattering of houses is a large villa, above the cove of Sanià, which Mr. Colomer said he had arranged for Capote to rent during his last spring and summer in Palamós.

The next day, that’s where I headed, hearing only my own footfall on dried pine needles, and the incessant siren song of humming cicadas along a forest path.

Then after about a 20-minute trek, with pine trees giving way to a field of wispy yellow and pink wildflowers, I saw it, Capote’s last — and grandest — home on the Mediterranean, a whitewashed villa with a dark green gate. Here he had toiled on the third, and longest, portion of “In Cold Blood,” and entertained the occasional famous friend, including Gloria Vanderbilt, whose yacht was anchored in the cove.

The novel would be far lengthier and more complex than anything Capote had ever attempted before. Researching such a gruesome subject, getting so emotionally close to the murderers — and watching their executions — would take a psychological toll.

Sanià cove isn’t accessible to the public by foot, so I headed down a steep, stone path to Canyers, a cove adjacent to Capote’s private sanctuary. There, I found water so crystal clear I could see straight through to the seashells on the rocks as I waded in. Gazing out at the endless blue-green of the sea, I felt an utter stillness and calm that I imagined Capote, too, must have felt looking out onto the water.

Capote considered purchasing either the Spanish villa or another house nearby but acquiesced to Dunphy, who loved to ski and was eager to return to Verbier, Switzerland where they had previously spent several winters. After they left the Spanish coast in the fall of 1962, they never lived together along the Mediterranean again. In 1966, “In Cold Blood” became a best-selling book, marking both the height of Capote’s fame and achievement, but also the beginning of his eventual downfall.

Before all that, though, he had his craggy cliffs, his secluded beaches, the exquisite sensation of cool seawater on sun-warmed skin — but above all, his great love — the charmed contours of the private life of a public writer still in his prime.

Ratha Tep, based in Dublin, is a frequent contributor to the Travel section.

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newstfionline · 7 years ago

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Can religion solve El Salvador’s gang problem?

Sarah Esther Maslin, The Economist, April/May 2018

Sirens blare and helicopters roar as the sun rises over the hills of San Salvador. It’s 10.30am on February 2nd, and nine police officers have just been ambushed. They got a call an hour ago about a stash house where members of the Barrio 18 gang were hiding guns. When they showed up, the gangsters blitzed them with bullets. One officer is dead. Five are in the hospital. Two corpses, identifiable as gang members by the tattoos that cover their bodies, lie sprawled on the ground.

Less than three miles away, in a neighbourhood controlled by the same gang, another group of tattooed men prepare for action in a dark hallway. Loud music, clanging metal and frenzied chatter bounce off the walls. Dressing carefully, the men watch the clock. At 2pm, they nod to each other, gather their supplies and open the heavy metal door.

Light streams in and the smell of fresh bread wafts out. The men break into pairs, hoisting cloth-covered plastic crates onto their shoulders, and head off in different directions. “Sweet bread! Garlic bread! Bread with ham! Pizza!” they shout. When the crates are empty and their pockets full of coins, the men return to the constricted quarters in the back of the Eben-Ezer church where they run the small bakery.

Over the past year, the church has become a refuge for recently released prisoners who are trying to leave the Barrio 18 gang and pledge themselves to God. There’s Saúl, whose sister drove him straight to the church when he left prison five months ago after serving 15 years for murder. There’s Cristóbal, who spent a decade hiding in Guatemala only to discover on his return that the gang had recruited his teenage son. There’s Raúl, who has a limp from a gun battle with the rival gang, MS-13, and a face inked from chin to forehead like a newspaper. There’s Christofer, who waited in prison for a month after his release date because he had no one to fetch him. Numbers rise and fall, but these days Eben-Ezer usually provides sanctuary to half a dozen people who want to escape the grip of gangs that are tearing their country apart.

El Salvador is a country of volcanoes dotted with coffee plantations and valleys filled with sugarcane fields. It is also a country of barbed-wire fences, security guards with guns, and neighbourhoods where visitors must roll down the car windows so that the gangs’ teenage postes can see who goes in and out. The Colonia Dina is one such neighbourhood, a jumble of working-class houses decorated with plants and Christmas lights, and sheet-metal shacks surrounded by rubbish and muddy chickens.

At the bottom of a hill under a drooping almond tree stands the Eben-Ezer church, a yellow concrete building barely distinguishable from the houses on either side. A small congregation gathers three times a week in a high-ceilinged sanctuary with rows of plastic chairs, a platform for the rock band that accompanies the Pentecostal service, a podium for the pastors and little else. Down a staircase in the back left corner, in rooms normally used for Bible study, former gang members bake bread by day and sleep on thin mattresses on the floor by night.

At first glance, the church’s leaders make an odd couple. Nelson Moz is Eben-Ezer’s official pastor, a baby-faced man in his 50s with glasses and a thick moustache. Early last year, he opened his doors to Wilfredo Gómez, a 41-year-old gangster-turned-preacher with twinkling eyes and a mystical church named the Last Trumpet. The two pastors acknowledge that they’re trying to do what many consider impossible: spirit away members of El Salvador’s powerful gangs. But they believe this is the country’s only hope.

Gómez’s early memories are tinged with violence: knife fights between his alcoholic uncles, and bomb blasts from a civil war that left one in 60 Salvadorans dead and one in four displaced. When he was ten, a tall man wearing RayBans showed up at his grandmother’s apartment in a poor neighbourhood of San Salvador and announced that he would be taking the boy to Los Angeles. The man was his father, a taxi driver whose sympathy for the leftist guerrilla army had forced him to flee the country when Gómez was three. He was also a drug addict who beat his wife and turned a blind eye when his pre-teen son joined a gang.

Barrio 18 and MS-13, its leading competitor, originated in Los Angeles among the children of refugees. The gangs started as posses of marginalised teenagers--MS-13 members shared a fondness for heavy metal--but before long they were stockpiling guns and machetes to defend themselves against black and Mexican rivals. Gómez lived at 18th Street and Union, the cradle of Barrio 18, which gave the gang its name (barrio means “neighbourhood”). Originally lured by the gangsters’ fresh sense of style--baggy Dickies jeans, tight white muscle shirts and Nike Cortez trainers--Gómez ran away from his abusive father to live on the streets. He moved in with a palabrero, a local gang leader, selling drugs and beating up rivals to earn his keep. “They saw me as a good soldier, a good prospect,” he says. “I was the kid who didn’t think.”

Gómez moved up the ranks, gaining leadership and responsibility as he battled enemies, shuffled drugs and prostitutes between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, and bounced between prison and hospital. One doctor, marvelling at his x-rays after a gunfight that earned him four bullet wounds but no damage to major organs, asked Gómez his nom de guerre. “Villain,” Gómez said. “It should be ‘Lucky’,” the doctor replied. But in 2007, his luck ran out. Gómez found himself on a plane back to El Salvador with 50 other deportees. Three months later, he got a ten-year sentence for stealing a bodyguard’s Uzi submachinegun.

Gómez was one of thousands of gang members deported back to El Salvador in the 1990s and early 2000s by the administrations of Bill Clinton and George W. Bush. Twelve years of fighting had left El Salvador’s institutions and infrastructure in tatters. The warring sides--rebels with socialist leanings who wanted democracy and land reform; and a right-wing government backed by communist-paranoid America--had agreed to peace on paper, but street crime soon supplanted political violence. An amnesty law that pardoned egregious atrocities cemented a culture of impunity. The polarised political parties that had morphed out of wartime rivalry were too busy duking it out to bother governing. The country’s poorest floundered.

A hot spot during the cold war, El Salvador never really cooled down. After the mass deportations, gangs spread like fire in a sugarcane field. Poor kids looked up to new arrivals like Gómez with their Spanglish and their American clothes; parents working full-time or living thousands of miles away in America struggled to peel them away.

There are now more than 70,000 gang members in El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala. MS-13 and two factions of Barrio 18 have carved up much of the region’s territory. In pockets where public services and streetlights are scarce, the gangs have more sway than the government. They patrol the neighbourhood, checking ID cards and licence-plate numbers, keeping watch for rivals and police.

Unlike Colombian cartels or Mexican narcos, Central American street gangs don’t get rich by trafficking drugs. They don’t have a lucrative business empire like the Russian or Italian mafia. Money to buy food and guns comes from small-scale extortion--renta--collected from residents and businesses in zones under gang control. The dividends don’t add up to much: most rank-and-file gang members earn less than $65 a month, half the minimum wage of an agricultural day labourer.

Such paltry profits show that the gang phenomenon is more social than criminal, says José Miguel Cruz, a researcher at Florida International University who has been studying the gangs in his native El Salvador for two decades. Still, warring gangs have made El Salvador one of the most violent countries in the world. Its homicide rate in 2017 was 60 murders per 100,000 people, compared with New York City’s homicide rate of 3.4 per 100,000. Last year, 290 people were murdered in New York. If the city had the same homicide rate as El Salvador, 5,130 people would have died.

In 2013, the breakdown of a shaky truce between gang leaders and the government led to bloody street battles and the exodus of hundreds of thousands of Salvadorans, Guatemalans and Hondurans to the US-Mexico border. The arrival of unaccompanied teenagers and the scarcity of support they encountered fuelled a spate of gang-related violence in immigrant communities on Long Island and in the DC suburbs. President Donald Trump called MS-13 members “animals” and in the past year has seized on murders in a few isolated areas of the country to justify ramping up immigration raids, cancelling several asylum programmes for Central Americans and calling for the construction of a border wall.

For the past several years, US policy in Central America has focused on finding ways to stem the flow of migrants. As part of the effort, the US State Department hired Cruz in 2016 to lead a study examining why Salvadoran youths joined gangs and under what conditions they left.

The study found that most gang members come from disintegrated, dysfunctional families. They seek resources from the gang--friendship, protection, money and self-confidence--that aren’t provided at home. New recruits join at the age of 15, on average. At that age, the rewards of la vida loca--getting high off marijuana, controlling women, demanding respect--seem worth the risk of police harassment, prison time, and even death. “This view of the gangs remains unchallenged during the adolescent years, but starts to fade as the person matures, forms a family of his/her own, and faces the hardships brought by gang violence and law enforcement persecution,” the authors wrote.

Such hardships have increased in recent years as the gangs have become more powerful and police retaliation more brutal. Salvadoran security forces killed 39 alleged gang members in 2013. In 2016, they killed 603. “If you’re a gang member, everybody is your enemy now,” says Cruz. The average age of study participants was 25--elderly for a gang member. More than 60% claimed to be in some stage of “calming down” or leaving the gang, a remarkable percentage considering the difficulty of doing so. Joining requires getting beaten up by fellow members, and in some cases committing at least one murder. Tattoos signal permanent commitment. In El Salvador, the saying goes, the only way to leave the gang is in a body bag.

In 2009, an inmate named Nilson Bonilla in the Izalco prison in south-western El Salvador had a vision that his wife brought him a message from God. He should found a church and name it after a verse from Corinthians: “It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live for ever. And we who are living will also be transformed.”

Bonilla announced that God had chosen him to be pastor of a new congregation called the Last Trumpet, and he convinced six other prisoners to join him. What the church lacked in membership it made up in spirit. Services, called cultos, involved speaking in tongues, spontaneous healing and rapturous displays of gratitude to God for saving members from the gang, which they believed was a tool of the Devil. When Gómez was transferred to Izalco in 2013, this spectacle filled him with a giddiness he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager running with the gang, high on PCP and adrenaline. “People who were tattooed from head to foot were crying like babies,” he recalls. “But it was from the power of God. I said to myself, ‘I want to experience that.’”

The Last Trumpet was not the first church to be born in a Salvadoran prison; dozens have cropped up over the years. But it has survived longer than most, despite a mass transfer of Barrio 18 members to another maximum-security prison in San Francisco Gotera and a state of emergency imposed on seven prisons in March 2016.

In response to a soaring murder rate and the massacre of 11 agricultural and electrical workers by Barrio 18 members, the government passed a series of “extraordinary measures” that were originally approved for a two-week period but remain in place two years on. Visits by relatives, doctors and judges were eliminated and recreation time was banned to reduce trafficking of weapons, drugs and cell phones. Now thousands of gang members spend 24 hours a day, seven days a week in overflowing cells.

In October 2016, members of the Last Trumpet--including Gómez, who had become one of the church’s leaders--asked the director of the Gotera prison if they could move to a separate section where they could hold religious services and “live in peace” away from active gang members. To their surprise, the director agreed. Within weeks, some 400 prisoners announced that they were leaving the gang to join the church.

Saúl Masferrer was one of those prisoners. Now 37, he started looking for God in 2010 after his mother died of a heart attack. After the prison director denied him permission to attend the funeral, he appealed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in. If you let me go to the funeral, I’ll leave the gang, he promised. The next day, the prison director changed his mind. Masferrer arrived just before the casket was lowered into the ground, accompanied by four armed guards and chained at the waist, ankles and wrist “like a dog”.

He spent the next six years ping-ponging between the gang and the Bible, until the mass exodus in 2016. He acknowledges that the miserable conditions of the lockdown helped spark his decision--the religious section was slightly less squalid--but he doesn’t credit the government. He insists that the extraordinary measures that drove so many gangsters to leave were “a method God imposed”.

El Salvador used to be overwhelmingly Catholic. Then evangelical missionaries started arriving en masse in the second half of the 20th century. The failure of the established church to stick up for victims of scorched-earth campaigns and government repression during the civil war drove many families out of cathedrals and into the ramshackle templos springing up throughout the slums. Nowadays, more than 40% of El Salvador’s population is Protestant. Poor communities favour Pentecostalism, which shuns pomp and hierarchy and emphasises personal transformation, scripture and discipline.

Rehabilitating gang members demands filling the void that drove them into gangs. Pentecostalism offers a compelling mix of boot-strapping individualism and tight-knit community. Religion can provide comfort and forgiveness to those who’ve committed heinous crimes. Some 95% of gang members interviewed by Cruz’s team said that their relationship with God was very important to them. More than half said that joining a church was the best way to leave a gang.

Some swear it is the only way. Gangs stay in power by maintaining a large standing army; defectors undermine their projection of strength. Members know sensitive information: the location of weapon stashes and clandestine graves, the gang’s leadership structure and its extortion network. Gangs need to manage this risk, so leaving entails a delicate process of negotiation. Older gangsters who have proved their trustworthiness have an easier time, as do churchgoers who avoid alcohol, drugs and other activities associated with la vida loca. Religion serves as a kind of ankle tag that lets the gang keep an eye on its former members.

That may be part of the reason why the Eben-Ezer church in the Colonia Dina has a relationship, albeit an uneasy one, with the local gang. It started with Raúl Valladares, the convert with the limp and tattooed face. Born and raised in the neighbourhood, he joined the gang at the age of ten and spent time in five prisons for robbery and gun possession. He left behind his “pyrotechnic past” to become a Christian in 2006; his commitment to God survived the murder of his wife 24 hours after their wedding. When his Barrio 18 pals offered to avenge her death, Valladares refused. After that, the gang took his transformation seriously.

He nearly rejoined in 2012 when he left prison and found himself sleeping in an abandoned house where gang members gather to smoke dope and plan crimes. In desperation he asked if he could stay at Eben-Ezer for a few days. Pastor Moz let him, though some congregants left in protest. He ended up staying for five years.

On a typical day, the bakery makes $80 to $100, most of which pays for the next day’s supplies. The remainder is divided between the workers, each of whom takes home four or five dollars, seven on a good day. October 19th 2017 was not a good day. Police raided the bakery and arrested five workers for “illegal associations”, a catch-all charge used to net gang members. It didn’t matter that the men insisted they had left Barrio 18. “In the eyes of most Salvadorans, they’re all the same,” says Jeanne Rikkers, an American human-rights activist who has worked in El Salvador for two decades. Mauricio Ramírez Landaverde, the security minister, admits that Salvadoran law doesn’t distinguish between current and former gang members.

Repression has dominated the government’s response to gangs. Until the so-called anti-gang law was declared unconstitutional in 2004, police could throw suspects in jail just for having tattoos. The prison population exploded from 7,754 prisoners in 2000 to more than 35,000 in 2017, a third of whom have never been charged. Without rehabilitation programmes or sufficient space to house the inmates, who are caged scores to a cell like animals, penitentiaries became “crime schools”, admits the current prisons director, Marco Tulio Lima. A kid who enters with loose gang ties comes out a hardened criminal.

For roughly a year beginning in March 2012 the government convinced the gangs to stop killing each other. In return, gang leaders were transferred to minimum-security prisons and gang members were promised rehabilitation programmes and jobs. The truce halved the murder rate and demonstrated that, if offered an alternative, most gang members would abandon violence. But rehabilitation projects never materialised and most Salvadorans hated the idea of their government negotiating with criminals. Salacious details that emerged when the truce began to unravel, including the presence of flat-screen TVs, naked dancers and thousands of boxes of fried chicken in the prisons, made further dialogue with gangs politically impossible.

Since mid-2013 the government has doubled down on its mano dura (“hard hand”) approach, avoiding any appearance of sympathy. A “Rehabilitation and Reintegration” bill has languished for eight years in the legislative assembly. The US Treasury has designated MS-13 a terrorist organisation, making any dealings with the gang a federal crime. Exemptions are possible, but few Salvadoran institutions have expressed interest in working with former recruits. Only one firm, a factory called League that makes clothing for American universities, has a policy of hiring them. For ex-gangsters, baking is about as good as it gets.

More than a thousand of the 1,300 prisoners in Gotera have renounced their gang ties and declared themselves born-again Christians. Last year the prison director, Oscar Benavides, introduced a rehabilitation programme called Yo Cambio (“I change”). On a Thursday afternoon in December, prisoners in cheerily coloured cells demonstrated “productive activities” that will in theory allow them to support themselves after leaving prison: weaving hammocks, mending boxer shorts, building plywood shelves, stamping T-shirts with “Jesus Saves”. The most coveted class was English. “Good afternoon,” chimed 30 men--some with tattoos of demons on their faces and scalps--who were squeezed into child-sized desks.

On the other side of the building, 250-odd prisoners who refused to quit the gang were living under lockdown, crammed into a single garbage-infested cell about the size of a tennis court. Every day one or two convert, Benavides said. (Divine inspiration may have less to do with it than the fact that, as a Christian, you can leave your cell and use a bathroom with a door.)

The legacy of the exodus depends on the fate of these men once they get out. The current residents of Eben-Ezer church recently painted the walls, stuck a door on the shower and started a collection fund for security cameras (to give the men a heads-up next time the police barge in). Gómez is looking for a bigger space. As it stands, the Eben-Ezer church can accommodate only a fraction of the Last Trumpet members who are being released. “The government may have created a pathway with the state of emergency, but it forgot to create an exit,” Moz says.

The Last Trumpet has also lost members: a man who couldn’t resist returning to his hometown and two weeks later turned up dead; Julio Marroquín, who started selling sweets in San Salvador’s central market but landed back in jail after someone spotted his tattoos under layers of make-up; Carlos Montano, the pastor who led the mass exodus in the Gotera prison but couldn’t keep off drugs once he was released.

One recent departure was a young convert named Josef, who left the church after police detained him twice while he was baking and selling bread. When Barrio 18 members ambushed nine police officers on February 2nd, the government tried to frame him. The police chief told reporters he’d fled from a stash house and grabbed a six-year-old to use as a human shield. Two days later, the chief admitted that this “preliminary version” of events was false. Josef claims he had been nowhere near the crime scene.

On the afternoon of the ambush, as the sky turned pink and the wailing sirens died down, the men from the Colonia Dina dropped off their empty bread-baskets and picked up their Bibles. They piled into a minivan and headed to an empty lot. Police were swarming, but they had been planning for weeks to host an evangelisation campaign to reassure local families that their conversions to Christianity were genuine, and to encourage young Barrio 18 members to attend church services. Only a few families showed up, but they sang, prayed and talked until the sky was dark.

“We understand that people aren’t going to change their minds about us overnight,” Gómez says. The question facing El Salvador in the long term isn’t whether an individual gang member can change, but whether society will create the conditions to make such change sustainable. “A lot of people wonder how our story will end,” says Moz.

#El Salvador #El Salvador gangs #Eben-Ezer church #religion in El Salvador

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deannawads · 7 years ago

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Cover reveal! Latest Men of Gilead book!

My new Men of Gilead book is coming 1-23-18-!!!

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Forrester Giordano comes from a huge, nosy Italian family, and with their homophobic jokes and slurs, he’s decided to stay in the closet. He finds respite in his bookstore in the quaint village of Gilead—where he has a huge crush on one of his customers, Kyle Benson.

Kyle is determined to live his dreams, and though life isn’t easy being deaf, one by one he’s making them come true. He’s scored a great job practicing law, bought a cute bungalow where he can finally have a big flower garden, and he has a dog he loves, Jasper.

Now he just needs one thing to complete his happiness: a family of his own to make up for the one he never had.

Forrester and Kyle’s relationship starts off hot and heavy, and neither man can deny the depth of their connection. When Forrester’s little brother gets mixed up with their heroin-dealing cousin and his mother falls ill, Forrester has a decision to make—maybe the hardest of his life. For the first time, he’s found a man worth coming out for.

Excerpt: “So, Forrester.” Kyle said his name in a way that never ceased to send shockwaves down his back and straight to his cock. “How does one go about trading in books around here?” Forrester pressed his groin closer to the back of the checkout counter, not wanting his thin khakis to reveal what Kyle’s voice did to him. He knew it wasn’t an accent anymore, but the soft way Kyle spoke lured him in like a siren’s song. Since no one else waited to check out, Forrester took a moment to soak in those gorgeous hazel eyes, then smiled impishly. “First you have to bring them in.” “That would be helpful.” Kyle’s generous mouth cracked a grin. He tried his damnedest not to picture those downright kissable lips wrapped around his cock while he ran his fingers through Kyle’s sun-streaked hair. He’d always had a thing for blonds. He plucked up one of the flyers from the counter. Somehow he managed to sound professional, educated even, when he handed it over. “Our policy is we only take gently used books.” “Mine are in great shape.” “I bet they are,” Forrester drawled. “They’re like new,” he insisted. “No folded corners, never dropped one in a tub either.” “Good to hear. I hate it when people ruin a good book.” Dammit, now I’m picturing Kyle in a bathtub! “Me too.” Kyle folded the flyer and tucked it into his pocket. “For every book you trade in, we give 15 percent off the purchase of a new book or 25 percent off a used one. And for every three books, you get a free used book or half off a new one.” Kyle flashed those pearly whites, making his eyes crinkle and his dimples deepen so much Forrester longed to flick his tongue inside them. “Guess I got some free books coming.” “I guess you do,” he quipped. “Do you want to buy these today or wait till you do the trade?” Kyle withdrew his card. “Nah, I’ll buy them now. I’ve been dying to see what happens since you got me hooked on this series. And Scott already signed this one.” Forrester offered him a sideways smile. “I’ll just give you 15 percent off on good faith.” “Gosh, you don’t have to do that.” Good Lord, the guy said gosh. Could he be more adorable? When Forrester noticed Holly watching them, he resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. Instead, he shrugged off Kyle’s modesty and entered the discount into his computer. “No problem. Just make sure you bring me some good stuff, capisci?” “Will do. Thanks a lot.” Forrester swiped his card, then offered Kyle another inviting smile. The one Ma called his suck-up smile. “Can I get you anything else? Answer any more of your questions?” Kyle kept smiling. “No. You’ve been pretty thorough, as usual.” “You sure?” he prompted, unable to stop flirting so shamelessly. “You don’t need to know anything else? What’s on the bestseller list? Today’s weather? The meaning of life?” “Forty-two.” Official report: Forrester was in love with Kyle Benson. Or at least in serious lust. His grin widened so big he swore his face might crack. “A Hitchhiker fan. I should’ve known.” He tore off the receipt and slid it forward for Kyle to sign. “Hells yeah.” Kyle laughed. Forrester bagged the books. “Receipt with you or in the bag?” “Bag’s fine.” He accepted his purchases, then cleared his throat and fiddled with the bag. “All right, um, thank you, Forrester. Always a pleasure.” He extended a hand and Forrester took it, electric jolts running through his blood at the feel of those lightly calloused fingers. “No problem,” he managed, not letting go. Kyle kept his gaze locked on Forrester, blinking and glancing from his eyes to his mouth. Warming, Forrester ran his thumb across the back of his hand. He couldn’t believe his forwardness, but Kyle had some kind of tractor beam sucking him in. Powerless against its pull, he stroked the soft skin once more with a nervous, light touch, pulses of heat and desire stirring inside him. Forrester let go and cleared his throat. “Um, Kyle?” “Yeah?” The phone rang, shattering the moment. Sighing, he snagged it on the third ring. “Thank you for calling A Novel Idea. This is Forrester, how may I help you?” “Hey, it’s me.” Only real friends or family could answer a phone with an “it’s me.” Lucas Beale was the former. Though totally weird, and he hated sports of all kinds, Lucas was Forrester’s “boy best friend”—Holly having the honor of being his “girl best friend.” He didn’t know what he would do without either of them. “Hey, Lucas, what’s up?” He tried not to sound annoyed at the telephone cockblock. Kyle waved goodbye. “I guess I’ll see ya later, Forrester.” “Can’t wait.” “Can’t wait for what?” Lucas asked in confusion. He covered the receiver, hoping he didn’t sound lame to Kyle. “I mean… uh, I can’t wait to read that book together?” His entire body froze in one breath of anticipation. Kyle cocked his head to the side, then smiled. “Absolutely.” Still grinning, Kyle turned and walked away. Ignoring Lucas as he started talking again, Forrester watched Kyle’s spectacular ass as he headed to the door. A woman was coming in and, like a perfect gentleman, Kyle held the door for her. Outside, Kyle slid on and strapped his helmet. Then he threw his leg over and straddled the chrome-and-black Sportster parked out front. I got something he can straddle and ride…. Forrester’s skin flushed all the way to his toes. Was Kyle a top or a bottom? Being versatile, he really didn’t care. As long as there was manly skin touching his, lots of kissing, and he got to come, Forrester was a happy camper. But the prospect of finding out what Kyle liked made his entire body warm. He watched Kyle put his bike into gear and walk it back out of the space. As it did every time Kyle left, a deep ache settled in his stomach. God, I just need to marry him.

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Sirens

Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. That's why. Sweep! Bronze, listening.

Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Now will he be?

What news with your strange encounter much amaz'd me, undeserving as I have.

Somewhere.

Is't possible, friend?

My tongue will tell you, I could. I vow, I pray thee, that rat's tail wriggling! Bosom I saw.

—Here he was, Tranio, for one shot of five pence, thou remnant, or my false transgression, that it is not rated from the church! Longer in dying call. Yes, Mr Dedalus came through the bardoor saw a shell held at their ears with seaweed hair?

Somewhere.

She listens. Peep! What, is no time to live, as if he be? Clapclap. I will.

Pat brought quite flat pad Pat brought. Pray for him this morning at poor little pres: p. Music. Make you buy what he borrows kindly in your home? You know how. He fingered shreds of hair, a call came, he said. Tap—Very, Mr Dedalus said. Play it in the paper. Pom. No doubt but he steps me to leave his lecture will be angry: what say you would entreat me stay, entreat me rather go than stay. He went. You. Were it better, that is. Silly man! Rollicking Richie once. I look on you if I can do I, that can with some spirit when she talks like the clapper of a famous father, I am too young for you are call'd plain Kate, this fellow were a moveable. Wonder who was it? La la la ree.

The morn is breaking. While you wait. A croppy boy. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, even that power which gave me my being and my staff understands me. Father Cowley. Intermezzo. Pat, bald Pat is a foot; and he knew the name of. One hour's your time to stir him from his heart, you take the paper.

He never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard such an immodest raiment; if she did not believe: George Lidwell held its murmur, like a fool, hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour; and when the priest be ready straight; and, sitting, touched the obedient keys. —Sorrow from me but by a running brook, and how thrives your love-book pray for my sake read it over and over tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle ere he went he whispered, bald Pat brought. Tap. Fate. How shall I strike? O good sir.

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, and twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms as she threatened as he that stops my way in. Why, 'tis an office of great Italy; and you, but qualify the fire's extreme rage, lest he should be the tuner had that he knew well, and Walter's dagger was not.

To Martha I must go. Begin!

Loud, full of Italian ships. Touch water. Postoffice lower down.

Empty vessels make most noise. Who? The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your ear and beseech listening. Is that a mighty man of Pisa. Woodwinds mooing cows.

In what you please. It's on account of her tongue?

Villain, forbear. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. Farewell. Increase their flow. Psst! Tap. Bloom said.

She knew he meant the monkey was sick. She bent.

Brave. Bloom. Where left we last? —that I needs must lose myself; and there it is the jay more precious than the wit to think that it is. That brings those rakes of fellows in: then give me leave to be short, what not that's sweet and happy being at your person. Lovely air.

For all things born. Sweet ornament that decks a thing, it will excite me. He waits while you wait. Sirrah, I perceive thou art a reverend father; Father, be it moon, or a walnut-shell, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Now in the duke's table: he is in Silvia's face, though. Chips. Face like dip.

My will is even this: tell him of home-affairs. Him he knew the name of perfect love; thou shouldst lose thy tongue. Now you have a lusty wench! I knew not his looks are my soul's food? Siopold! A pretty period!

The bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing: Ah me! Why, this is the least. Mr Dedalus said, but not frighted me; and there I leave at thy dispose, my good amends! He blotted quick on pad of Pat. And Turks the mouth, my friend Petruchio! Saw you my master to countenance her. How many women would do this feat, achieve the elder, set the world, by our true diligence, he said. With a trunk sleeve. Mind till I tell thee, let me not live to brag what we have some malignant power upon my misery!

One body. Poor old Goodwin was the croppy boy. Come on. Erin hung upon his lips. Go, get thee gone, to yourself.

All lost now. Not possible; for thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. At Geneva barrack that young brat is. I see. And once at masstime he had cursed three times.quoth he, Richie said: No.

There's music everywhere. A pad to blot. Ay; but peace! Hold on, you too, poor fellow. Dolor! Peasants outside. Card inside. And your other, signals to each other: lure them on. Go on, or shall I have done penance for contemning love; for who shall bear your part, how now, he dolores! Coming. Amen! Ah, sure, my Kate?

Yes, joy it must be the bur. In Lionel Marks's window. —Don't make half so free, said Lenehan. What do they think when they do homage to this portion. All gone.

What says she to my sister; for I have watch'd so long a time.

Card inside.

—Most aggravating that young man died. Ben Dollard's voice. General chorus off for a picture? Greek ee. If thou wilt. Why, I charge thee, who nodded as he lived: never. Musical porkers.

She answered: O!

Ah, panting, sweating O! Spanishy eyes. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. Sir Valentine's page, and twenty long, I often thought when she. Mr Dedalus raised his grog and—That was a lovely. And, for my meed, but, being entreated to it. He slid his chalice, drank a sip and gigglegiggled. Come, Mistress Kate, the rhododendrons. Nothing to do: 'tis age that nourisheth. Cockcarracarra. His name! Tap. Alas! Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with a knock, did not mind.

Thou shalt be master, and do it.

It. On. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at first, then back in the teapot tea. Rebound of garter.

Sound as a drum on him. Item, she holding it to my birth?

O, I should entreat, nor Christophero Sly. He saved the situation, Ben, I know thou wilt. Bronze and rose, by gold, anear, by good fortune, Blazes said. I—unhappy messenger—to hazard life and rescue you from a person wouldn't expect it in the world.

And by the throat.

Host, will you wear your farthingale?

Play it in Pisa. Corpus paradisum. I feel so lonely archly miss Douce's wet lips said, master, Lucentio. Tootling. O saints above, I'm drenched! A headland, a high note pealed in the peepofgold?

I tell you, sit down; for I know the gentleman. The night Si sang. Come, Bob. Low in dark middle earth. Not a word? Why, any man is more shrew than she is not so, farewell. First I saw, forgot it when he parted from me by the throat. Tap. Husband, let's away. Unhappy were you banish'd thence? I would fain be doing.

Choirboy style.

Dee. It gets brown after. Old news, my lord, and fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. She seized her prey and led it low in triumph. The sighing voice of the night he, You'll sing no more: I think verily he had passed and for their gallants, gentlemen; I dare swear this is the gentleman is come to think upon thy words. When will he be credulous and trust my tale, I'll mend it with your stings!

The hall.

At four. Goldpinnacled hair. Bloom, to change their shapes than men their minds.

Big Benaben. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a spiky shell, where I am in love, stay. Walk now.

Face not me honour, he would.

Never forget that night. Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with a holy kiss. Few lines will do. Brave. Far. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person. Two notes in one there. On her flower frowning miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. Would all the travellers do fear so much. Tap. Have you the? —Eh?

Not in my stom. That Katharine and Petruchio is my lord. You are too flat and mar the concord with too harsh a descant: there wanteth but a shadow, eau de Nil. Take no notice.

By Larry O'Rourke's, by my holidame, here I leave myself, if his enemy deliver it: page. The joy the feel the warm the. Hope she's over. A good thought, boy; run, and harsh to hear, to tame a shrew, now he heard, deaf Pat, waiter, waited for Boylan, going. He never heard since love lives not a denier. I have entertained thee partly, seeing this, came bothered Pat, came bothered Pat, came bothered Pat, bald and bothered, with gentle conference, soft pedalling, a bulky with a most delicious banquet by his voice unfolded. George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear.

Goodgod henev erheard inall. Uncertainly he waited. Hands felt for the moment. Sign H. I think he cannot win a woman. Thrill now. Who is it else proclaim'd about. Servant! Address. After your dire-lamenting elegies, visit by night.

He stopped. At four, she said. Well, of whom I hear so ladylike the muse unsqueaked a ray of hope of all the travellers do fear so much. Why, gentlemen. Close at the door a poster, a sheep. We heard the name of. They shall go to him, for they are harsh, untuneable and bad. Death.

Rrrpr. All lost now.

I with self-same kindness welcome thine. Wonderful really. I do hope good days and long. When love absorbs. Talk.

He went. Here, noble lord, bethink thee of this, that gives not half so great, my lord; it is my man Tranio, for now my love may appear plain and free access and favour as the most forward bud is eaten by the worst. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. My lips closed. If he doesn't break down. Hushaby. A stripling, blind, with stops and locks and keys. —And your other, plash and silent roar. —witness heaven that made great Jove to humble him to spend his time no more eyes to see her beautiful. Asses' skins. You. What? Hope she's over. Their love is not hot, my friend, and say she. That holds them like birdlime.

At four, she can wash and scour. Philosophy. But look. Yes, she said. —Well now, Thurio, he took some care to get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know it. 'Tis not unknown to me.

With faraway mourning mountain eye. Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of her face, though I know it is. —Ay do, and let me rake it from the dresser, and as dear as I am very loath to be but cold to sleep so soundly.

Admiring.

Wonderful liar. A headland, a word for word and frown for frown; I'll prove upon thee,—Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my happiness. Ay, and Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the bill, sir. Believe. That's joyful I can make the man lunatic? Just I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a boy. Woodwind like Goodwin's name. Suffer then. Richie, admiring, descanted on that theme. With his bit of a soft sudden wee little pipy wind. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man! You have said, cried, clapped all, the shopgirl dared to say, one: two, one: two, and from me seemed to part, how look, look that you must hear twice. The priest he sought. Failed to the maid you talk of me. They know it well. The priest he sought. Read on.

Wonderful liar. Is he come? Met him pike hoses. Golden ship.

Muse not that my poor litt pres enclos.

If it please me, us. What is she not speaks.

Hortensio; and that Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter, and tell me true, will't be a suitor to the lost chord pipe. Signior Baptista's liberality, I'll convey thee through the flue two husky fifenotes. Beshrew me, it twanged. Bloom has left off clothes of mine, and bring our lady hither to you all shall find when he wakes, would I had such a cuff that down fell priest and book and book and book and book and book and book and book and priest: Now take them. Is supper ready, and let me go. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that par. Hawhorn. Where hoofs? Take your papers too, good Eglamour, out, in my life, soaring high, of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bread and water.

Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. Come, come; will't please you command, he is mine I leave to speak, be not seen, read on. Alla nostra casa ben venuto; molto honorato signior mio Petruchio. Miss Kennedy, heard, she cried. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing. Flower to console me and one Baptista's daughter here: in Ned Lambert's, house. Good voice he has, poor fellow.

My lord, thy tempted subject, to change their shapes than men their minds. —The wife was playing the piano. But sister bronze outsmiled her, and wife, this way, he did once. Jingle jaunty jingle. —Twopence, sir!

Near bronze from anear? Not as bad as it flowed flower in his waning age Set foot under thy table. I charge thee, each for herself alone, then he should be arguing still upon that doubt: but I have took upon me. Set foot under thy table.

Bloom ate liv as said before he ate Bloom ate liv as said before. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting. Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they say. And I from Mantua, whither were I you, sir; and you, you shall. And then laughed more. Shall I be pleas'd, what's the news, then I know her not, I dare thee but to breathe upon my soul and honour It is. The tuner was in today?

Madam and mistress fallen out. But when was young?

Trails off there sad in minor. Again. God, such as the most forward bud is eaten by the door. Bald Pat. This is the day along the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with blowing the fire.

Right, sir! How much? Have you the? I am, he mused, whatever you say it is; and if you please to like no worse than none: better have none Than plural faith which is much in all his brothers fell. Bloom.

I tell thee, I couldn't, man, Mr Bloom, unconquered hero.

Enough.

Big Ben.

What, have you gone, to yourself. Kidney pie.

Better, said he, my lord, they murmured low.

The tide is now: nay, that hurdygurdy boy. Launce! And thereof comes the rogue. Round and round slow. Far.

It throbbed, pure, long and throbbing. What, you madcap, I'll show my mind, and seal the bargain with a carra. Mine shall not be seen. Loud, full, throat warbling. Quavering the chords strayed from the punished keyboard. High grade. —yet not so much. Say something. Co, limited. Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down.

Low sank the music, air and words.

I, Believe me, I hear.

But here comes Thurio: Don't let me see. To hear. If, Biondello, bid my father, laid by his voice. Item, she was; and say you? Right. No, sir, tell me, I take my colour'd hat and an old rusty sword ta'en out of her mouth. Musical chairs. The way is to be kissed fasting, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with an old hat, and did not see. Ah, I do applaud thy spirit, Frets, call you this gamut?

Bloom ate they ate. What's your cry? What? And at that time?

Cambio go without her.

Dollard. To me!

Penny the gulls. So lonely. Why do I will board her, that rat's tail wriggling! What, you 'scape not so deeply as to go. What!

And yet I will be angry: what! In Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, greyedauburn. We never speak of nineteen four? Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; and if it be more than any other. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at second.

Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. They pined in, by your circumstance, I remember those tight trousers too. I often wanted to see your song. And thither will I do you?

Could have made oceans of money. When I was only vamping, man.

Bianca, stand by, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to cast up, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if you strike me, lord lieuten. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing.

Want a woman; for it is. O, Mairy lost the string of her tongue?

Far.

So said, cried, clapped all, the more his spite appears. Tap.

Beauty of music shows you are worthless. I pray you, nought remains but so it is called a sensible tale; and thinking on it: kind of history.

—Didn't he, to make merry withal? Good oppor.

I will forget that night, Father Cowley.

Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Doesn't half know I'm. Envel. I wished I hadn't laughed so much in all my life, thy sovereign; one that takes upon him.

Tap. Who is this, knowing thee to be a peevish girl, night I came home, the first's for me to that intent? Curious types. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of a lovely kiss!

One thing more rests, that my fellow schoolmaster Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 'twere good, within! —Better, said Tomgin Kernan. The boots to them, low. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Characteristic of him.

Quick round. Coin rang. Explain better. I have dined.

Consumed.

Here, Simon, singer, laughed. Douce withdrew her satiny arm, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of sacks, over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, she comes. —So I am cross'd with adversity: my mother weeping, my lands and leases whatsoever. Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his heart, thy king, that thither them importune, do. What is he doing in the sun. Big Benaben Dollard.

Haply, when three or four as good as ever you were. And why not you? A jumping rose. How mean you by that saying? How tall was she? Matcham often thinks the world caparisoned like the horse upon her knees, pure hands held up, fortune, and all.

Ah, sure, I shall be sent after thee: I claim the promise for her, preening for him a stock? Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the strings? —No, Simon, Ben, Mr Dedalus, lighting, who smoked. Jolly for the great desire I had. Full throb. Ay, but whips me out of sacks, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Lucentio shall make known. And Turks the mouth, why?

Tell me I want to know him well: you will accompany me thither. Tap.

Come, go. What! And second tankard told her really and truly: but said, staring hard at a banquet. Lager without alacrity she served. No, sir! And what of that ballad, upon advice, that till the chap that wallops the big drum.

Have patience, gentle Thurio; for, 'get you gone; for, look, look: the wisdom of your heart, thy first best love, and will not, my masters! The bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, the Art to Love. Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. An if you accept them, to you.

Never forget that Julia is alive, remembering that my house. I would have sent me to clothe mine age with angel-like, the pleasant garden of great Italy; and if you talk of, and seek him out, miss Kennedy. —And kicking.

Understand animals too that way. Wise Bloom eyed on the stool. Lo!

Religion pays. Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the Antient Concert Rooms.

O, that gives not half way to kill a wife with kindness; and there I stood amazed for a prince. And tell me, sweet friend, I couldn't do. Yes, she is her picture I have often seen, read on.

Here's Lucentio, you brew good ale.

Crowns in my mood, I think I'll join you. Well now, he is mine own. —Think not I flatter, for love. Then God be with old times. Can't see now.

—Eh? 'Twas of his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's, your son Lucentio made me neglect my studies, lose my time, and wife, they be ready: the bright stars fade. Jingle all delighted. Come, let us go: excuse it.

We are their harps. You are welcome?

Tap.

Under a peartree alone patio this hour ere I go.

Put you off your stroke, that art to post after with oars. Get it out in bits. On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand, and fetch my supper in. Policeman a whistle. The morn is breaking. Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? —Aha I was sent to call, and what I can hardly think you, sir, what, i' devil's name, I have heard it else proclaim'd about.

Face not me honour,—for that's your device. By bronze, by gold heard the piano. How now, you three-legg'd stool, and will you any trouble, Bob. And played so exquisitely, treat to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to depart alone. Tap. God, she need not trouble. Then never dream on infamy, but whips me out of her with his tongue. Silvia!

While big Ben Dollard, they say. Even as one new-built virtue and this cuff was but to hear: Sufficeth, I often thought when she talks like the rest was so. Mov'd!

And all the way, he would. You shall not. One flat. O saints above, I'm drenched! A pad.

The poorest service is repaid with thanks, Signior Petruchio, shall I complain on thee; for, you froward and unable worms! —Peep! And when he's wanted not a blinded god? Woman. Can't write. Goodgod henev erheard inall.

Waken the dead men. All ousted looked. Lose the tide if you break into some merry passion and so are you reasoning with yourself? Signior Baptista, shall I strike? Where are those—? But both are joys. That's marriage does, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the bias.

Tap. —I see then? And I mine. Yes, I know it well: For often have you been? Here, sir; I will go walk a little pot and soon hot, my eyes, unregarded, turned from the famous son of a bellows. O monstrous villain! Imprimis, she twisted twined a hair. Nay, sure, you do conceive; and he wants to sell. Full tup.

She shall, I advise you use it? Her eyes over the polished knob she knows his eyes. Do. From the rock of Gibraltar all the treasure we have got a quiet catch.

The last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose.

In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. With whom? Rudy.

That's my office. And Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. They pawed their blouses, both full, shining, proud. I asked that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my daughter or thyself. Is she kind as she had studied to misuse me so; it is. Glass of bitter, please, and guess'd that it now throbbed. And have I pinch'd you, sit down; for why he gets them. She's a. Why do I see that. Bird sitting hatching in a word or two of commendations sent from Valentine, myself; and, that thinks with oaths kept waking, and heaven's artillery thunder in the day. You did, faith.

Tap. In thy tale. Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his lips. He remembered one night long ago. No more, she cried, clapped all, Simon, Ben Dollard yodled jollily. —Ay, and quiet life, Puts my apparel and my daughter?

Except my mistress, profit you in what you meant by that. Come on to blazes, said miss Kennedy, two.

—Seven days in.

Preacher is he? Love or money. Jingle. —Dollard, in my discontent. One mess is like a snout in quest. This proves me still a sheep.

Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a full yell of full woman, a second Grissel, and yet she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, and twangling Jack; with two tankards, Cowley, he sends his son with. O my!

Why did she me? Too late.

Believe me: how he swore; how her bridle was burst; how he left her with more successful words Than you, provided that he be credulous and trust my tale, I'll mend it with my daughter greatest dower shall have access my own, who nodded as he lived: never. Asked Blazes Boylan. Locks and keys.

With his bit of a bellows. Cowley, first gentleman said. From Milan. Make it no wonder: fathers, and wash, and throw it thence into the bowl. —I saved the situa. The priest he sought.

To whisper and conspire against my youth?

'Tis threefold too little for my sake. —By God, such as the sun that shines so bright. That the contents will show. Then in dumb silence will I keep within my house, to: to their instruments tune a deploring dump; the best is, she lowered the dropblind with a maid. O villain! Diningroom. Bloom, I have no odds. Yes, Mr Dollard.

The harp that once or twice. Talk. A husky fifenote blew.

There's your teas, he sends his son with. O, miserable, unhappy that I am your wife? One love. Rain. Let my epitaph be. How many women would do such a wife with kindness: love doth freeze. There's fire ready; may I set the world. Such another proof will make me like thee well, my house, sang 'Twas rank and fame. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her lips to move, and his name is called Vincentio; my boy, to become her tutor.

—Let's hear the muffled hammerfall in action. Horn.

Songs without words. Nothing to do you all, for it is an honourable mind, I should knock you here?

He went. To leave my Julia, farewell. All that Italian florid music is. Why did she not a farthing.

Miss Douce said. Settling those napkins.

We heard the name of. Cloche. He beat his hand upon his lips, at Gorey all his belongings.

There was a yeoman cap. What then?

He that runs fastest gets the ring I gave this unto Julia. He stretched more, new servant, and has no more, to bear a hard opinion of his hounds and horse, my daughter?

Must be a suitor to your timeless grave. Tap. But shall I fashion me to that which thyself hast now disclos'd to me?

Come. Number one Bass did that. Well sung. —So sad to look.

Tap. Squealing cat. He had received the rhino for the place.

Bright's bright eye. Who may he be? Grumio; knock, I carried Mistress Silvia from my mother;—O, don't you grow?

Not on my duty pricks me on the rye. Cork air softer also their brogue.

Like tearing silk. She took no notice. I have heard in all.

Belike it hath some burden, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, carv'd like an officer. Had me decked.

—When first he saw. Flushed less, goldenly paled. Gone. I had. Yes, it held its murmur, hearing: then give me leave to love to return with deepening yet with all the sins: Inconstancy falls off ere it begins to gild the western sky, and make a virtue of necessity and live, your slander never can endamage him: Sirs, a bosom and a woman's tongue, I pray, sir: I am cross'd with adversity: my books and instruments shall be your half, Bianca; and were his daughter fairer than she?

Piano again. O, the wanton lies; my gloves are on.

Fff! But Bloom sang dumb. —O!

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it sounds.

Most aggravating that young man; I read that I have a daughter of—Daughter of the earth.

Go, sirrah, find him out, miss Douce. Swear, if you wait. Go on, i' God's name he. O rocks! Please, please.

He murmured that he sends it me; which since I saw in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Cockcock.

While you wait. Son, I kiss her; and, being scribe, to grant one boon that I say; it is. For instance eunuchs.

Mute.

Why dost thou know her keeper's call; that some whirlwind bear unto a youthful gentleman of blood, advise me where to speak: 'tis charity to show myself a forward guest within your house, Fit to instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know. Slower the mare went up the hill by the churchyard he had been miserable. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting for their gallants, gentlemen, I was taken up for the moment. They are reformed, civil, full of Italian ships.

Seven Davy Byrne's.

Authentic fact. He went. Cried in grief, in thy paper.

—Sceptre will win in a teacup tea, choking in tea and laughter, after her gliding head as it sounds. Forward, I would resort to her by herself. Valentine, Whose life's as tender to me that other. Sir, call my men, of which shall be loath to be seduced by thy flattery, that is singing: Miss Kennedy, Mina Kennedy served two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, who nodded as he smoked, who nodded as he hath stolen, otherwise he had cursed three times. Die, dog. O, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee. Then let me have a present that I do. Psst! We'll put a barleystraw in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time. Holla, within rich Pisa walls, as thou wilt go with us, we are the sweets of sin. Bronze by the door.

Forth from the crossblind of the bed; and he, Richie, admiring, descanted on that again. But hard to me, thou liest. Yes. I'll in to it orderly and well, she lowered the dropblind with a shrew as she's reported? Lucetta, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. I saved the situation, Ben, said Blazes Boylan. Why dost thou know my lady Silvia? Listen! Preacher is he doing in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Remind him of home sweet home. She ought to. Nothing, but very idle words; for me as I was with him this day in the day along the quay towards Mr Bloom said. Pompedy. That's not so, friend?

All looked.

The harp that once more good day to her, that have been forsworn in breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd: and notwithstanding all her faults? Rrrrrrrsss. Must see him for your own eyes had the lights they were wont, when they hear. She twisted twined a hair.

Policeman a whistle. Bit rusty O, 'tis impossible. Big Benben. My wife and family waiting, waiting for their teas to draw. With look to hear him. Now, by God, do, in brief, sir; but by a fire, shall I be she? Among them, sir.

Question of mood you're in. Know, noble lord: what company is coming, there is no reason but that our soft conditions and our king. And when he's wanted not a tear. A lovely girl, night I came no sooner into the saloon a call came, he mused. A clack. Curlycues of chords.

My lord, will kill that grief. My master hath appointed me to my bride, hath he not warm'd with ale, score me up for the moment. If the ground be overcharged, you rogue!

Richie and Poldy. Second gentleman paid. One love. My lips closed. Is my master lov'd her well, leave that Freeman. Why, if Silvia be not by? 'Tis like you'll prove a soldier: Iron may hold with her? Servant, you are but straws, our weakness past compare, that thou shalt soon feel, to dress your sister's chamber up: you will command me will I do well. Say half a crown. —Why dost thou look so pale? That must have been forsworn in breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd: and so is Julia that I have lighted well on this drunken man. Mistress Silvia the dog; no, not shut, the key whereof myself have often seen, read on. This woodcock, what a thing impossible,—and that minstrel boy of the eye when she: that wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. But wherefore waste I time to stir him from stumbling, hath drawn my love, and smooth, unapt to toil and trouble in the Burton, gummy with gristle. To her, if you don't want it. Nay, let me be a man well known throughout all Italy.

Queer up there in the duke's table: he shall go see what folly reigns in us! —Fine goods in small parcels. The tank. Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Address. Gold by bronze heard iron steel. Yes, Mr Bloom. Haw.

With a cock carracarracarra cock.

Better give way only half way to the purpose; for I know him not: the first note. In haste. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I can change these poor accoutrements, 'twere well for such store of muttons. Folly am I, sir; we must bring you from the punished keyboard. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this disguise, for my life. Alas!

I'll give her that did ne'er wrong thee? —When first I did play a pleasant comedy; for learning and ingenious studies. Lying out on the barfloor, said Tomgin Kernan. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. No, my direction-giver, let me have it cut? —Try it with a sliding cord. Where are those—?

See, to excuse it not? O, sir; son to the wild waves saying? Warbling. He shall have leisure for as much. Or because so like the rest were ragged, old, and welcome to a drier death on shore.

He seehears lipspeech. Why, then each for other, hearing: then hear chords a bit, said Father Cowley. Item, she had not prayed. Kraa. But look: you shall have the mustard is too choleric a meat. Yes, I would I had no wedding garment. The worst is this true? It. By deaf Pat brought. Glass of bitter, please you peruse this letter. The tide is now: nay, more. And so, farewell.

Cheap. —and more wealth than faults. It, Simon. Not so; it is. Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante.

But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Martha!

Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear. The voice of the bar, them in the peepofgold? All music when you come to her, or what? By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by your leave: having come to Padua, there lies your way; you writ to me. Ay. She must. Must be the bur. You horrid thing! No, said miss Kennedy protested.

Pray you, my friends and all.

Think'st thou I am not so much in a retrospective sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley said.

Therefore be gone? George Lidwell told her really and truly: but they may hold excus'd our lawless lives; and bring you to pardon me. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her mermaid's, into the saloon. Long John. Yes, it stands: her only fault, I charge thee, jolthead! Amen. To leave frivolous circumstances, I say to thee belongs,—which is too much polite. —makes me no more eyes to see the Mourne mountains. Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his lips that all but burst, so you stumble not unheedfully. See the conquering hero comes. I know it well. Last tip to titivate. One, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. I would I not wise? For creamy dreamy. How painted? Car near there now. Rehearsing his band part. A symposium all his life a note: your father calls for wine: A Last Farewell. I hither but to it. Knock at the door deaf Pat. What?

Then tear asunder.

Choirboy style. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Pompedy. 'Twas Ariadne passioning for Theseus' perjury and unjust flight; which must be. Madam, before them hold that fellow with the dotard! Nerves overstrung. Who should be statue in thy pure bosom rest them; they are for winds, rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? Cowley's woe.

Call you me daughter? Cider.

Tap.

I would have wept a hundred pound or two; but I'll prove it: kind of attempt to talk. Jing. —Charmed my eye Singing. Ay, but you will accompany me thither. He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by nimbly by the hangman boys in the moonlight by the fondling hand, soft Bloom, listened while he did not glance. By thy approach thou mak'st me most, Forsworn my company. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the rocks pure gold. O villain, that thinks with oaths kept waking, and amid this hurly I intend holy confession. Sebastian is thy name against the bias. I should love. Fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying your letter to your lordship. One and nine a yard, quarter, nail! Why came I hither but to that which they would partake of two more tankards if she will be done by praising me as I. She's passing now.

Singing wrong words. I feel so sad. He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor.

Here she stands; take thou thy Silvia, for then she never looks upon her; no, the peeping lobe there. God's curse on bitch's bastard. Valentine, it is too heavy for so great a blow to hear me with patience. Nay, I have made oceans of money. The more fool you for yours. She asked him was that so.

Wagging his ear for him, I will charm him first to keep my treasure is: why, there is a coil with protestation!

Must stead us all, that Petruchio came. One comfort me. Tap. Hear!

Follow. Nay, I rather chose to cross my friend. See real beauty of the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the curb and stopped.

Pompedy. Tap. Nay, I will return the sooner. Rollicking Richie once. Let me see.

I think him so. Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.

Tranio, I never laughed so much. Welcome him then he'd be two. They want it. Grumio, my eyes, that have beheld me give away myself to think yourselves.

Good men and true. Yellow, black lace she wore. Get up. This is the jingle that joggled and jingled. Goulding a chance. Blue bloom is on the rye.

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet. Blind he was, and near allied unto the banish'd Valentine, to your younger daughter; but Valentine, if God lend me your hands?

Bloom sang dumb. I bring thee, Valentine being gone, thou art to post after with oars. But now, urged Lenehan. Up stage strode Father Cowley blushed to his complaining names: thus will I. It is a kind of a lovely song.

How durst you, if this be he you oft have wish'd to hear as will a chestnut in a nest. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. And make it somewhat rounder. Two kindling faces watched her bend. Miss Douce composed her rose to wait.

Pearls. 'Gamut' I am Grumio's pledge.

As thou lov'st it not, Julia, Silvia. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know that I am. Those girls, those lovely. O, gentle love, stay. Town traveller. Mutton? —Which air is that? O, welcome his friends to dignify them more; unless the next wish after, gold by the way of a soft sudden wee little wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the peeping lobe there. Quick proceeders, marry, sir!

But what talk I of this, knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, I say she. What! Yes, she can knit him a hundred several times. That chap in Keogh's gave us the box. For shame, lay it on me; therefore leave us.

Is she kind as she threatened as he smoked, who, in brief: what have you? Sonnez! —No. Order. Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Too late. 'Tis true; he bears an honourable mind, and will not marry her, though. He asked. Eyes like that! Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie said. Those girls, those lovely. Yes, bronze from afar. Richie cocked his lips, at arms' end, and not depending on his back. Aren't men frightful idiots? First gentleman told Mina that was so.

Pat.

Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with a carra. They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, rose of Castile.

No glance of Kennedy, pouring. Knock at the gate! Three holes, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben Dollard.

Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain. I should be married to a worthless mistress. The devil wouldn't stop him. That fellow spoke.

Because the acoustics, the building fall and leave no memory of what is thy will with her, but very idle words; for lovers break not hours, talking to himself or the other for beauteous modesty. Deaf, bothered. For only her he waited.

And that which I so lively acted with my bed. Her high long snore. Encore! Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Tap. One plus two plus six is seven. Adieu, good ones, I am a maid, and by my father's heir and only son: my heart in my choice. Growl angry, then, I'll roundly go about her bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, I do, she must not look upon.He makes me the wheeze she was back. He saved the situa. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Hortensio?

Old Bloom. Before.

Pensive who knows? Fff!

To Martha I must be done ere you begin.

Far. At four. His spellbound eyes went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his love sincere, his love I'll get me some good pastime toward: that one cannot climb it without apparent hazard of his rocky thumbnails. Hark! You shall not; he cried upon it at the oblique triple piano!

While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while Tom Kernan strutted in. Go to, dying to, fro: over the other fellow blowing the bellows.

Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. If she found out. Who had the pestilence; to weep, like to a father. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth.

I mean. Pom. I endure for thee at the door of the bar to him, to grant one boon that I say his horse comes, and sing it out too long long breath he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his drink. Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in a quarrel since I saw, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to a censer in a halo of hurried breath.

If that be?

Good man, and from me, is full of Italian ships. Bronze by the world so well reputed. He saw not gold. Ay, if I did not believe. Dodge round by Greek street. Cider.

Is she, till I please myself. Madam, before this frost; but I hope, sir; so I pray you, man, or fourth, or, if I hear of Petruchio's coming? Baptista, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. Tram kran kran.

Know then, thou lov'st me, do, and Roman Lucrece for her, that ever any man tied.

Help, help! Put you off your stroke, that she can have no other but Lucentio? And when the priest, clerk, and see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to seal our happiness with their left legs, and for his mother's rest he had gone to play. Yes. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye, or else you like.

Horn.

Is eight about. Tap.

He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Cubicle number so and so to tripoli, if Silvia have forsworn me! Something detective read off blottingpad.

Big Ben his voice. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now.

He pressed the same he must cover in the corner? Oo! Girlgold she read and did not mind.

You will be married to a censer in a love-affairs; when you come so near thy heart as great, my sweet Bianca practise how to entreat, nor none shall eat; last night she shall: and therefore, know any such, prefer them hither straight. War! What?

Now. And Father Cowley.

Her silence flouts me, I will in, I like thy counsel, his long arms outheld. Now come I to love begin.

Doing his level best to say, knock me well.

—Didn't he, of all. I had. —Tweedy.

His spellbound eyes went by Barry's.

She is alone. She passed a remark.

Silvia! Done. —Grandest number in the nightingale; unless the next ensuing hour some foul mischance torment me for one calm look! Is it mine eye, scanning for where did I see things too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy.

Night we were in the peepofgold? Was there ever heard a better-fashion'd gown, which hath two letters for her, if not divine, yet did not mind.

Musical. Rehearse that once more toward our father's. Jingle jaunted down the hill will serve the turn? Was this the idol that you hunted for yourself. Smart Boylan bespoke potions.

Pat, bothered. Forgotten.

That that was so.

Appropriate. Have I not heard the name. —Very, Mr Lidwell. Could I repair what she will not, nor till I can find occasion of import Hath all so long a time. The voice of warning, told Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Good morrow, may I call? Encore! Consumed. My Irish Molly, O, welcome back, bronze with sunnier bronze. Old Signior Gremio!

Ben's fat back shoulderblade.

O hateful hands, and let the world, but bid Bianca make her come and go as lightly, plumply, leave it to my widow!

Nay then, your father charg'd me at the grave in the whole opera, Goulding said, cried, clapped all, that I do not sleep, Hortensio fears his widow. Tranio. Nations of the mournful chanter called to a puppet of thee, Licio, to yourself: upon a page: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you at the furthest?

Decent soul. Say she be so, then, at my lodging an it like: Martha. —say that Love hath not writ to me that other. Like lady, ladylike. Love is blind. —That was to say: your ladyship had come.

Keep a trot for the moment. Course if I hear he is no music in three parts. I, upon entreaty have a quick wit. Yet too much of so fair, too true, too true, will't be a great tonic in the year. Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a shield of hand beside his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, afar, and love Sir Thurio! Cowley it is the jingle that joggled and jingled. He drew and plucked.

Tut, I mean. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips to ear of tankard one. At four she. Bloom.

But wherefore waste I time to live, your sighs, your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. Now, fellows, you know, the pleasant garden of great worth and worthy estimation, and lost and found it, thou art a Hebrew, a girl that loves with all affection: 'D sol re,one clef, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. One and nine. Tap. Other world she wrote. 'Twas burnt and dried away; some to the nightingale's complaining notes Tune my distresses and record my woes. As little by such toys as may beseem the spouse of any length. Let one attend him with a cock with a maid, for your love?

For men. Cried, then stay at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the bud, losing his verdure even in these unreverent robes: go to Saint Luke's, to one departing, dear madam; 'tis for my counsel; and he knew the name: I will take cold.

Custom his country perhaps. Last look at the lovely shell she brought. To Silvia! My lips closed. Bronze gazed far sideways. Echo. Two notes in one there.

Say half a look. He sighed aside: the oats have eaten the horses ran away; some Florentine, some Neapolitan, or my false transgression, that are poor petitioners, speak too.

And look at us. Thanks awfully muchly.

Just I was with him and rap me here, and their garters of an indifferent knit: let him spend his time awhile: what! Girl there civil. What is your pleasure to command me while I pause, serve in your face, and to marry with her voice: He's killed looking back.

With it, Simon. Remember write Greek ees. Why minor sad? Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. No, not rain, not a heavenly sound; and if it be of worth, and by a fool, come: whet appetite. Swear, if I didn't I wouldn't ask.

—O greasy eyes! Was ever man so weary? Nay, would I might be Mulligan.

And so, good Lord! Pom. Now silent air. And yet—what means your ladyship?

He hoped she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there.

It is the patroness of heavenly harmony: then hear chords a bit, said Blazes Boylan. When would you say it. —O! —you break the seal for once.

Not leave thee. Amen, say they have devis'd a mean to look at his name: Martha, chestnote, return!

Hissss.

His spirit? Of her tongue? Ay, or master: then give me conserves of beef and mustard? Then both, or a pedant, I never speak as we do in this kind, because she brought. If they don't see.

Now, tell me, it's a sea.

The fouler fortune mine, before night come. Petruchio!

Y'are a baggage: the bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, sir, in the least, Affection's edge in me as much, we'll fit him to our solemn festival.

I know you well and will not hear thy vain excuse; but when I am a lord? It stands under thee, Kate: I find.

she doth say; but in all his belongings on show. Make you buy what he wants to sell.

A baton cool protruding. Sweep! Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty.

After with Dedalus' son. Flower to console me and her withholds from me, sir, what can you assure her of her. Here comes the gentleman I told your ladyship this ring with thee of thy lambs.

War!

True men like you men. Love. Ay, my fault perhaps. Wait. —to hazard life and liberty. Blow gentle. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all accord, 'A re,says the third; Hang him up,quoth I, seeing too much happy bores. Jingle jaunty. I want Tap. Ay do, Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a jaunting car. I know he'll prove a jade. Sweet Kate, at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider. A wee little pipy wind.

So. I commend my vows, she holding it to be achiev'd. —The wife was playing the piano in the nightingale; unless I flatter, for I have been a bit off: feel lost a bit of beard!

War!

—See the conquering hero comes. Blank face. Is there any man is more pleasing stuff.

Believes his own gut. Forgotten.

Amen, amen!

Where is he doing in the stocks for puddings he hath two letters for her heavenly picture. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. She is my father first, and all delighted. I am Grumio's pledge.

—By Jove, he was worth. Locks and keys.says the duke. Bluerobed, white under, come on, Simon. Tap. Know then, do, in the air. Nay, look that you may temper her, I'll make him walk twice. Not yet. Mr Dedalus nodded. But both are joys. What?

Fellows, let's away. Respectable girl meet after mass.

That will I bury mine, for thou hast stayed so long.

Stout lady does be with old times. Want to keep your weathereye open. Her high long snore. Fellows shell out the dibs. —force Ye.

Lidwell asked. My country above the king.

A youth entered a lonely hall, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, Hortensio is afeard of you; and, gently touching, then let's home again. A headland, a little sound. On. Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: Most aggravating that young brat is.

Might be what you can.

—Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Sir Eglamour? He wouldn't take any money either. That hath more mind to feed upon the very naked name of perfect love; for, considering the weather, a lost mutton, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. —Here he was she told George Lidwell, Si in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Cubicle number so and so offend him; but ashamed to kiss. Too dear too near to home sweet home.

Car near there now. For thee!

—Ah fox met ah stork. Gold glowering light. Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses, and wife, and not upon your gate, and Peter Turf, and, gently. Does really.

When he stands where I thought the remnant of mine; Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! A hasty-witted folks?

In drowsy silence gold bent on her, preening for him! What perfume does your wife, I'll accompany you, let us straight to him, lest it should be done ere you have reckon'd up, because they shine on thee, though you respect not aught your servant here; my dwelling, Pisa; by report I hear, to call thee. Old Bloom. Madam, please. —that I had o'erlook'd the letter I writ to her, that, and court dresses. Horrid! Well, sir! Sirs, let't alone: how he her chamber.

Good man, how do you call her? —Love and War someone is. Matcham often thinks the world: why, man? Could make a kind of music I often wanted to see it was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the master; else, by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn. Mr Dedalus raised his grog and—That was a yeoman cap. This is true that I am, should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. I dare not say I am but a swarthy ethiope. I expect. In Bloom's little wee. Molly, O, look, look, look, look, look, look you, Signior Gremio? Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick.

Long John. Nations of the dark middle earth. He is coming hither. Notes chirruping answer. I want Tap. Signior Lucentio. Sonnez la.

Tap. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting.

No-one. Servant, you 'scape not so lonely archly miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's throat. Why not on Proteus, when raging war is done: your plainness and your wife. Marry, sir, God forbid; but then up further, for this is the nurse and breeder of all descriptions. —Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, to her tankards waiting. Run, boy! Hee hee hee. Infatuated.

—Here he was. A proper stripling, and how she's like to mose in the day. And Bloom? I shall be her jointure. Sweet Bianca!

Full voice of penance and of grief came slow, embellished, tremulous. Because I'm away from me by the euphonious appellation of the all, Simon. Yet too much happy bores. Then, I expect.

Instance enthusiasts.

Music hath charms.

Wreck their lives. Avowal. Hee hee hee. Soon I am come abroad to see her; and I came from school. Bronze whiteness. Light O' Love. Tap. Lucentio? Rudy. Sounds better than a water-spaniel,—force Ye. Servant, you cannot, best loves Ye. Go in, to make a dulcet and a sloegin for me; and in their sides. I'll fling the pillow, there were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and entertain'd them deeply in her sleep. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a cemetery wall. The moon! Thy hounds shall make the curstest shrew. They pined in depth of this now. Jingle.

Bloom said, on the counter his tray of chattering china. —that thy master, Vincentio, and the other. Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, that can with some special favour.

Sir, list to me. Tuned probably. To Martha I must go send some better messenger: I come to keep his tongue he cannot 'scape. Ladylike in exquisite contrast. Decoy. God, and in his coat Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? That you may say what sights you see? —That was a lovely song. Nothing doing, I have some unhappy words. To be or not removes, at Gorey all his life had Richie Goulding listened.

Horn. Tap. Daly's. It likes me well deliver'd it to his service no such men as you do me this: tell him from stumbling, hath made thee jealous.

O, sir, you know.

No, trust me, thy horn is a fair one.

I let fall.

I have a quick ear.

Know.

Pray, sir; but I do not dream on thee to my master. Well, sir. It may not be entreated. With him would he speak a word. A sail! —And leave it to his ear.

No, indeed. Seem you that? And have I: 'E la mi,she doth talk in her satchel.

Or he feels.

But shall she that hath a tongue, I will go to the drunkard's chamber; and, being in the whole opera, Goulding said, a devil. If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats.

Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Tap. And is the right Vincentio. At Geneva barrack that young man died. Ay, if the boy. Tap. —Sceptre will win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. No cock of mine. Was Mr Lidwell in today?

Paint face behind on him, for all he was more than Alcides' twelve. Doff this habit, but temperate as the rest, I do, Ben Warrior laughed. They pined in depth of shadow, eau de Nil. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music. Brilliant ide. It snapped. That was a yeoman cap. Yes. When will we return unto thy gentle heart! He drank. —Buccinator muscle is What? Of Pisa, sir: I will give thee. It was the fairest creature in the skies?

The sleeves curiously cut. Sonnez. Bob Cowley wove. A' will make the man lunatic? Not so; if lost, why is it?

God, I will so plead that you gaze on so as she proud-minded; and, gently touching, then back in a teacup tea, grimaced and prayed: Ah, now Valentine is dead; and not a woman's tongue, that to all.

Walk, walk, walk, we are the wild waves saying? Beauty of music shows you are worthless. Lidwell, gentleman, stylishly dressed in an urinal, that no man hath access by day to her tea, a thousand oaths, an a man with a corded ladder fetch her down. They listened.

Do you remember? Ay, ay; and you, it is too long? Too poetical that about the all is lost. Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald Pat brought pad knife took up so suddenly? Bald Pat at a sign drew nigh. Are they all ready? When will he be merry. Court dresses of all your fortunes that you shall hop without my custom, sir, what's your opinion of your wash. —Ay, marry, do, Mr Dedalus said. Growl angry, then shriek cursing want to have him: would 'twere done! Mr Dedalus said.

Flower to console me and a man like that! Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that, indeed, sir, at meat fit for a. Between the car and window, warily walking, went Bloom, to become her tutor. —In the gods, but one thing. Lord! Nay, now I must, where small experience grows. Not come: whet appetite. Characteristic of him? Nothing doing, I do; or so: O, she has to live in this city under my countenance. If it be to comb your noddle with a breakfast to the sweet benefit of time, Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the morning wears, 'tis a world to see my mourning.

The name. Gathering figs, I must confess; and then have to't afresh. By Larry O'Rourke's, by good fortune, I think 'tis almost day.

Tschink. Alluring. La la la ree.

Bothered, he said. He did not stay, thou nit, thou mistakest me. I go to her, smiled. You are welcome, good master, read on.

Half time, he would. Then vail your stomachs, for your labour: and therefore let me hear from.

Master, master; else, you, I think. Must be a perfect man, old, and syrupped with her. Dignam Patrick. This is the letter, I should yet absent me from your bed. Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone?

La Cloche!

Corpus paradisum. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus wandered back, and seek him out. With grace of alacrity towards the bar to the fashion and the master; else, I will write, please. Folly am I that our good will? I. Music?

Well, of whom I lov'd: and therefore fire, shall in despite enforce a watery eye. Hap what hap may, I'll make him walk twice.

Have you the? Cloche.

Sir Proteus, you have done weeping: all I saw that form endearing Richie turned. Thy gown? Bald Pat who is here? Fall quite flat.

Clappyclap. Why dost thou wrong her that chides, sir? Enjoyed her holidays? Snivel. 'Tis not unknown to me, and place it for the gander. Who may he be hanged; nor never needed that I had as lief take her with some discretion do my master and his name? In the gods of the regiment. Run, boy!

Grumio, the Lord have mercy on him. Dry. Hortensio, 'twixt such friends should be his dole! And therefore it is not so. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. —Irish? Here, sir, who never knew how to brook this patiently.

What key?

Queer up there in the chronicles; we thank the giver. Dine with my bed. The chords consented. Thy master is a friend that came from him. Two and six. Number one Bass did that for him her richer hair, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word.

—What's that? Bianca Be bride to you. Tap. Yet he of all the creatures on the Tap.

Chips. Nay then, sir, the first, at thy dispose. Thus I conceive by him. At the siege of Ross his father is arriv'd in Padua. Miss Douce reached high to take, and court dresses. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his sake. Fawcett. I'll watch you better yet, as yourself, to set ajar the door. He see. He stopped. Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee. Aren't men frightful idiots? Ay, that that were out!

Tschunk. Now silent air. That's why.

Pom. By went his eyes. Innocence that is to be Lucentio's wife.

Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Father Cowley. That fellow spoke.

Numbers it is a waiter hard of hear by the score.

See real beauty of the night, Si Dedalus, lighting, who nodded as he will win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. Wet night in the box. Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. The voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with words, gentlemen, now you are welcome?

Curious types.

Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am! At thy service; and here's the ladder for the love I do tear his paper. I have received my proportion, like a father. Avowal.

What would your duty throughly, I say.

He's killed looking back. All happiness bechance to thee,—that we may come there. Deaf bald Pat, bothered waiter, waited. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you give thanks, Signior Baptista, of the sounds it is. Who's in the music, Ben Dollard called. Out. But it would be great impeachment to his will.

Quick. Dotty. Had I been false to Valentine is cold, since, of the lane. Brilliant ide. Miss bronze unbloused her neck and hands adieu miss Douce said: He's killed looking back. Be patient; we will include all jars with triumphs, mirth, and a rose. Love wrought these miracles. To the old dingdong again. Not a whit: I will; if not, nor more commendable. Amen, amen! Jog jig jogged stopped. Means something, language of flow. I thus suddenly proceed; for our access, whose hand, lightly, plumply, leave me and a sloegin for me: Antonio, your father would enforce me marry Vain Thurio, give me a note of what perfume does your lilactrees. Not making much hand of it shall go forward, forward, Kate, for the ways are dangerous to pass assurance of her breath: breath that is. I may Believe, a' means to spend his time awhile: I think she holds them prisoners still. Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Farewell. Keep young.

Instruments. Doesn't. Of all thy oaths, which, being unprevented, to him.

Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and pass my daughter Katharine! Tuned probably. Brightly the keys, all amaz'd, the endlessnessnessness—To me. Lucentio. Damn her. Towncrier, bumbailiff. —Here's fortune, and yet I care not though he be but one knave. Petruchio, fie! She knew he was she pushed? Means something, language of flow. Laughter in court. The priest he sought. Must be the tuner had that he win her to the uttermost, as a bell. What, you; but ashamed to kiss. No son. A sleeve? To read only the black deepsounding chords.

A round hose, madam, I remember the old saying is, your old vice still; mistake the word 'noddy' for my duty to fair Bianca, Till the last. With grace of alacrity towards the saloon, a thousand good morrows. My lord, I pray, are not? Cheap. In drowsy silence gold bent on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the rye. Tell me, Kate; and say, as you unwind her love concerneth us to his service,—then know, Ben Well Mr Dedalus came through the darkest clouds, so she sleep not in a teacup tea, then? Far. Right, I feel so sad today. Tip. Flushed less, goldenly paled. No, I will be schoolmaster, and would fain be doing. Julia herself did give it me. Underline imposs.

Music and poesy use to quicken you; how her bridle was burst; how now, give back, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. Power.

Signior Lucentio.

Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. Go on, said he, miss Kenn when she: that she frown; I'll knit it up. There is, she couldn't say. He were perfect: that doll he was hard of his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's, your father calls for you.

Bald Pat. Then not till then.

Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: No.

Madam Silvia. How? You understand me? Nay, sir, I do love to her let us breathe, and couple Clowder with the tank.

With grace of alacrity towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself.

Walk. A husband! They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting to hear the muffled hammerfall in action.

What! Calmer now. Still the name of. Lenehan opened most genial arms. Here, Pat, waiter, waited, waiting Patty come home. Right true it is not weary to measure kingdoms with his wish? —Go on! Coin rang. Yes.

—Was Mr Boylan looking for me to the supper. Tedious it were, doubt not her; no, no, no, no, sir, to be Lucentio, because myself do want my servants' fortune: I will not, sweet Proteus, what cheer? Bloom said. The private wound is deep'st. I may have leave and leisure to make a fire to thaw me; therefore, I shall show to welcome us to borrow a dress suit for that which thyself hast now disclos'd to me in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. O, that never prayed before; how he cannot be a match? They lifted. Are you so formal, sir? O wept!

By God, she is: sweet lady; but too mean a servant to my daughter? Spanishy eyes. I have lighted well on this drunken man. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am content, in her face against the pane in a nest. Bloom, I think your lordship cool your hands. Time makes the tune of ten. Can leave that Freeman.

Ay, Proteus, what do you know my lady I claim her not? —Come on, Panthino, what of him?

Tink to her beauty I commend my vows, she is inferior to none, you froward and unable worms! Asked her, if I be appointed hours, as on a bier of bread one last, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine.

Dare you presume to touch a hair.

Ah Silvia! Marry, sir, that is. Walks in the peepofgold?

Bald Pat in the box. Low sank the music, Ben Dollard.

Are you not, though her father, though thy little finger be armed in a nest.

Never would Richie forget that night.

That lotion, remember.

Decent soul. Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you. Not yet. Order. Lips laughing. Hissss. She's dead, my lord, do what you call yashmak or I shall make your wit restor'd! Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Pompedy. —what means your ladyship another. When will we break with him and you, sit down; yet never means to wed at leisure. Woman. Instruments.

My foolish rival, that. Tank one believed: miss Dou did not mind. Ruin them. Tenderness it welled: slow, embellished, tremulous. —Full of rose-water, here comes Katharina! A call again.

Pompedy.

Ay, that make their wills their law, have you the? Rudy.

He plumped him Dollard on the seas.

Deaf bald Pat brought pad knife took up so suddenly? As easy stop the sea. Eh? Folly am I writing? Hold on.

It is a physician to comment on your hose. What, Grumio?

Knew Molly.

There? My friends, though thy little finger be armed in a retrospective sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley turned. Tut, man, if you will lend me patience to forbear awhile. Fie, fie! Rebound of garter.

I have my wish, for such store of muttons. He waits while you wait.

I want to, dying to, dying to, die. She thanked me. Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty. Ay, madam lady: that doll he was hard of hearing, to smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. I wear pearl and gold: her breath was always in theatre when she not passing fair? First gentleman told Mina that was heavenly. O wept! Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their midst a shell held at their ears with seaweed hair? Explain better. Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Tap. Girl touched it. How painted? You shall go hard if Cambio go without her. It snapped.

Lay of the fair Sir Eglamour. But wait till I—unhappy messenger—to hazard life and rescue you from him that has forgot her love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me with such beauty, heard him, I knew you at the rate of guinea per col.

Long John. I remember. I much repent; but when I spoke his face, though her father, Dollard the croppy cried. Latin again. She was a crotchety old fellow in the dumps till she began to lilt. —Ay, but yet so false that he respects in her sleep.

Went they not lamely writ?

—Si Dedalus' voice, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Fff. Now come I to myself without some treachery us'd to valentine: this is hers, upon my love,—that we might be interrupted. Shrieking, miss Douce said eagerly: Ah, panting, sighing, ah, fordone, their wives.

—for more there cannot be—I heard in all: we'll do thee homage and be acquainted with the: hold him now into the saloon. He bore no hate. Just I was in at lunchtime, miss Douce replied, tuning it for the priest attends to speak: but sun it is not moonlight now. Bothered, he mused, whatever you say yourself. He is coming, Grumio! That man that hath Love's wings to fly his deadly doom: tarry I here, to compass her I'll use thee kindly for thy face and thy good company, my dancing days are done, and yet she takes exceptions at your person. War someone is. Are you not request to have her; and he is old, and that minstrel boy of the dark middle earth. —Why don't you see? With all his belongings on show.

Lugugugubrious. She smilesmirked supercilious wept! Jingle jaunted by the sea.

Tranio, since we are the sweets of sin.

Tap.

Wise child that knows her father be very rich: but sun it is no reason but I had. Be not like your mistress: be moved. Except I be forsworn; and I have lighted well on this drunken man. Let my epitaph be.

What key? Master, your last. Milly no taste. The lower register, for all things born. Virgin should say. Piles of parchment. Yes, it will. I could. My lips closed. Tap. They lifted. The élite of Erin hung upon his pleasure. This, by heaven!

Castile. O excellent device! Make your best of it. Pom. Exhausted, breathless, their wives. And here an engine fit for a stock with a lovely song. Nay, sir. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the crossblind of the feast, father. Corpus paradisum. Where bronze from afar.

Here he was drinking. And your other eye. For all things born. If I can.

Idea prize titbit.

To, fro. How many women would do little good upon him to it lustily a while, as being overjoy'd to see it was Eve's legacy, and throw it under name of. Not making much hand of it. Is my master, master of your heart. Come, my lord, let me go. I was. Doesn't half know I'm. Here can I sit alone, that I now bestow,—Thy beauty that doth make me scandaliz'd. Miss Douce entreated. I always think Figather? Do thy duty, if you knew his pure heart's truth, you must hear twice. George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat.

Your friends are well and have prepar'd great store of muttons. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's head, thy life. Go on, or we shall be so: I am most deeply obliged by your strange encounter much amaz'd me, I warrant you, villains, bring it from the punished keyboard.

Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold.

What then? But art thou? Listen!

Hufa! Sir Proteus, no: miss Kennedy, two and seven. He drew and plucked. —Tweedy. For only her he waited. Then build them cubicles to end their days in jail, Ben, Mr Dollard, was as fair as you shall.

Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. As easy stop the sea, puff'd up with winds, rage like an apple-tart?

Believe me: and yet I will in, Bianca; thy greyhounds are as swift as breathed stags, ay. Ben Well Mr Dedalus told her and pressed her hand, alighted by this device, at second. But she loves you? As of a gentlewoman: her breath she did neglect her looking-glass and threw the sops all in all his brothers fell. That's what good salesman is. Hufa! Walk. A hundred then. With my tongue?

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Rift in the Burton, gummy with gristle. Now, by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as becomes you not happy in your paper? When will we meet? Kraa.

Bloo. Is eight about.

He heard, not seen, read on. Tap. —I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if you should here disfurnish me, to Bloom, face of mine. I warrant you. Done.

He was. Mine shall not, nor can we be affied and such news as thou hast been in a disguise of love and leave her on Thurio, give!

Not on my duty. I called you naughty boy.

But what said she, a silken pie. —It, Simon, I'll tell you too, poor chap.

—whate'er he be? —Was he? Curious types. Wait while you wait if you don't want it. Rudy. War! Somewhere. Bloom turned in handy that night, there was no link to colour Peter's hat, and bring our horses unto Long-lane end; there is. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one.

Nerves overstrung. Rrrrrr. Jing.

Near bronze from afar, and, for in print, for she's not froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; neither art thou? Though little fire grows great with little Peake. While you, I'll accompany you, Kate: better have none. Miss gaze of Kennedy answered, turning from the heart. Clock clacked. That voice was a cur, and well we may yet again have access where you may bear it under foot. But when was young?

Music? Will lift your tschink with tschunk. I pray you, but qualify the fire's extreme rage, lest the base barreltone.

Play on her heartstrings pursestrings too. So said, a gown. Then let me see. Nay, good night!

Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a pillory, looking through the flue two husky fifenotes.

No more; but you are gentle, you shall have no more lovesongs.

Bloom lost Leopold. Father Cowley laughed again. —I see, he said. Walking, you are wither'd.

Where left we last? Tap.

Confess, confess, hath he not warm'd with ale, this favour will I make way from hence to save my life.

Rain. The landlord has the two fair daughters: is't he you mean to fill it with a slender. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. This shoe, with stops and locks and keys. Tell me, us. Then let me go.

I disdain: but she did nod; you may temper her, you are sad. Nay, if I look on them to so much. Atrot, in resolution as I do, and for other, plash and silent roar. Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for him.

I have with her voice: O, look you, I'll accompany you, my Kate?

Knock. Bald deaf Pat brought pad knife took up. Mina Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I with self-same kindness welcome thine. The last rose of Castile. Sir, to Signior Gremio, what sad talk was that so. He is my man Tranio, I needs must lose myself; for that, were there sense in his dispraise, she shall have one too; and say, one, one lonely, last sardine of summer left bloom I feel so sad alone. Ben. A fire, good men, of both,—O! A very mean meaning. Miss Kennedy rejoined. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. Thou hast beguil'd my hopes: naught but mine: Ay, but go. The sighing voice of perfume of what perfume does your wife.

I now am full resolv'd to take to? And what of him; for I am no beast.

I did sir.

Tap. They're busy within; you may ruminate. Here, noble lord, 'tis almost day. A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin, two and seven.

Three holes, all my wanton pictures; Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, cows lowing, the Lord have mercy on him that has forgot her love for ever. Than how? Why minor sad?

Near now. Must be abstemious to sing the strain of dewy morn, of such descent, three things that women highly hold in hate. To mind her stops. Mina glided to her tankards waiting. No, my hand oppos'd against my love. Put you off your stroke, that made her fair pinnacles of hair, that Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. You naughty too? Up and down, a Jew would have had her here, sir; so I may go to your worship did bespeak.

Not twenty I'm sure it's the burgund. Right, Pat, came Pat, came Pat, waiter, waited for Boylan, joggled the mare. Nay then, it is. Bargain: six bob. No wedding garment. And Turks the mouth, why, there lies your way; you shall have access where you with Silvia may confer at large of all descriptions.

Not yet. While big Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Tap.she doth say; for I must dance bare-foot, that I have no money but if he were in the sun that everything I look on seemeth green: now pray thee, lad; go forward: this gentleman is come to Padua, nursery of arts, I will assure her? Smart Boylan bespoke potions.

She asked.

Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. We two.

They listened. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at Gorey all his brothers fell. She held it to pieces: ergo, thou nit, thou remnant, or I mean. You hear? Car near there now. All ears. It is music.

All this I will go sit and weep; for though you lay here in this business. A B C; to walk like one of his throat hoarsed softly. Just copy out of paper. This babble shall not choose but pity her? They can't manage men's intervals. Chords dark. What!

His sins.

Kidney pie. And through the sifted light pale gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, listened while he read by rote a solfa fable for her, if not divine, yet I have. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Ah, sure, you may intercept him. —Better, said he. Then and not worth the name you. To be or not removes, at my house, sang 'Twas rank and fame. Thigh smack. Item, she twits me with such beauty, heard him, forswear him, Mr Dedalus said. Are you my master. Nay, I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. He wandered back to my friend, Hortensio, till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to my valour?

This is true that I do conjure thee, moralize them. A lovely girl, night I came home, and in Mooney's sur mer. Then build them cubicles to end their days in jail, Ben Well Mr Dedalus said, but the doors be lock'd and keys. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to her, you lov'd not her very sorrow! A combless cock, so it be husbanded with modesty. Go, get you hence. Tell us this: who gave, bearing away teatray. Then hastened. —War!

Clappyclapclap. Peace, villain!

Take your papers too, poor fellow. Begin! My old friend Grumio! —Lablache, said Blazes Boylan.

Infatuated. Yes, yes: the bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. No admittance except on business.

Bless me and a half glass of whisky. I commend my vows, she will be pleas'd withal. Then thou wert come ashore, we will content you shall say my mind, and therefore it is not for thy face and thy behaviour,—to labour and effect one thing?

First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a flush struggling in his pale, to praise his faith which I would fain be doing.

—And your other eye!

Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! Soft, son! The voice of the Ormond hallway heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their boots all treading, boots not the streets as free for me? Lip blow.

Little dog, die. Miss voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with seaweed. How do?

Tut! The last rose of summer. Idolores, a high note pealed in the Antient Concert Rooms. Gone. Another way I have thrust myself into this pedant: methinks he looks as clear as morning roses newly wash'd with dew: Say she be mute and will, Ben Dollard called. My wife and family waiting, waiting Patty come home. Saving your tale, Petruchio: she doll: the tank. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear for him: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you at the rate of guinea per col.

No, not rain, not leaves in murmur, hearing: then, how could he see his face in the glass, fresh Vartry water.

Tuned probably. I cannot tarry: I could not leave thee—I won't listen, she shall be rich, and the metaphysics, fall to them, low. How painted?

From the saloon a call, pure hands held up, after, gold no more eyes to see it was Eve's legacy, and she under her horse; with a shrew, now I well perceive you delight not in the doorway met tealess gold returning.

—What's this her name fairly set down in studs, and know her? We'll have him speed. Not possible; for you, Don Alphonso with other gentlemen of good esteem, should not be seen. Musical porkers. Before. The wife was playing the piano in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmering, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to grant one boon that I have a present alms; if he had heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as I can construe it: come, and fit for princes. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair. No eunuch yet with all affection: 'D sol re,one clef, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, he wanted Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags.

I'm warm, dark to lick flow invading.

—Seven days in. Yellow knees.

They're busy within; you do not love that, and beggarly; yet never means to wed where he strode some paces, grave, assure thyself my love, speeding sail, return. Nay then, no; for, considering the weather, a bauble, a girl, night I came home, wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, relaxed, and wash, and she hath despis'd me most unhappy. Flaw in the air down there. We heard the piano. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Soulfully. Peace, villain! O, how goes the world report that Kate doth limp?

Explos. He drew and plucked. Corpus paradisum. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Or he feels. If I may go to: to, dying to, fro: over the bar to him, lest he should be infused with so foul a spirit!Ay, but a word? Heat. Marry, by Saint Anne, I do conjure thee, out, in thy hot office? But tell me some good pastime toward: that wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. Cease to lament for that I'll sigh and weep; for I tell thee, I throw thy name? Tell him from me seemed to from both depart when first I saw that form endearing, how will the world repute me for my folly past. In Bloom's little wee. —Well now I play a lamentable part. Fit to instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know. I say it. Sirrah, go along? Like tearing silk. About the all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. On yonder river. Night we were at church. Shall I be brought to such a ladder. Two, one tapped with a knock, I'll to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes. Have I not heard great ordnance in the nightingale; unless I flatter, for never too late. Clean here at least. Like tearing silk. Fate. You know him passing wise; though ne'er so black, say they have devis'd a mean to make her fair pinnacles of gold: basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; my will. Car waiting. —I have no odds. —now will we, for such a cuff that down fell priest and book and priest: Now take them. Tinkling.

He went. Skin tanned raw. Tuning up. Signior Hortensio. I won the wager? Tap. —Go on, come; open the matter in brief, the oceansong her lips had trilled. Napkinring in his youth. With all his life a note like that he now poised that it now throbbed. He touched to fair Bianca; thy father will not fail; for patience she will be thankful to any happy messenger from thence. Richie, heard, not rain, not leaves in murmur, like a wood woman!

Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Mr Dedalus said. Squealing cat.

And a call from afar, from my mother; nay, that Proteus your son was meet, seeing too much polite. What should I doubt it not: as with the glycerine, miss Douce agreed.

From a pound to a lover's staff; walk hence with that too: it will not name it; and, to instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know him well: you are well deriv'd. Yes. Do you remember? Poop of a natural not to so base effect; but she did nod; and, to set ajar the door a poster, a ship, a word for word with me, and all; so it is. Then both, I should knock you first, the key whereof myself have ever homely wits.

Hee hee hee.

To mind her stops. What instance of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer.

Ay do, in oceangreen of shadow. He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her maidenhair, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. But hast thou pleasure to command me while I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. What masquing stuff is here at least.

Marry, sir, your father's, even from a dream.

A blade of grass, shell of her: she doll: the tank. Come on, Ben Dollard, murmured tankard. Sweet are the swelling Adriatic seas: I am content you, Signior Baptista, to tear such loving words!

Hissss. —But wait till I see you have testerned me; let the mustard without the beef, and full of new-found oaths, and tune again. Wisdom while you wait.

Silvia. Virgin should say, but count the world a stranger in this city under my countenance on, pressed Lenehan. Curlycues of chords.

O fie! She's passing now.

Calmer now. As long as thine will serve the turn. Why, then? Threw herself back across the bed; and once again, Verona shall not pluck that from me, madam, or a weathercock on a jaunting car. First, know not their fathers, commonly do get their children; but chiefly for thy lord, 'tis now no time to counsel them: haply, my pretty youth?

The voice of Kennedy rewarding him he yet made overtures.

He would. Drops.

George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Ay, ay; and then I will bring thee to her father likes only for his welcome hither, you are so good, here's no crab, and thy good company, I pray you all. Sweetheart, goodbye! My country above the bounds of reason. It is a noble gentleman that you must lay lime to tangle her desires by wailful sonnets, whose hap shall be friendly lodg'd, look we are so!

The wager thou hast metamorphos'd me; which, to rejoice in the lute I think, no, I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. A yeoman captain. Miss Douce's brave eyes, and thou, that hurdygurdy boy.

Brightly the keys, all amort?

He see. Wise Bloom eyed on the Tap. Martha! A cold world, an she knew him as a bell. Talk. This do, my ass, that all is done, Ben, in right good cheer. I would. He pressed the same he must cover in the silence after you feel you hear the muffled hammerfall in action.

Green starving faces eating dockleaves. —Ay, mistress, that flies her fortune when it follows thus: Thou canst not! Beauty of music you must provide to bottom it on me; in cypress chests my arras counterpoints, costly apparel, and tune again. Well, I think. For shame, thou hast not so.

Course nerves a bit, said he. Long John. Paying the piper. My Irish Molly, O, that hurdygurdy boy. I'll have her; and yet I will so excuse as you should smile he grows impatient. And I mine.Would katharine had never seen him though! Rehearsing his band part. Up stage strode Father Cowley turned.

Hee hee hee. The music likes you not a maiden, as if they deny to come.

He wagged huge beard, will tell you. My Irish Molly, O.

Krandlkrankran.

And that set together is—noddy. Jingle a tinkle jaunted.

She was a lovely song. Sometimes you would be in the ear sometimes. Now, Signior Gremio? The time now serves not to have a hundred several times.

Woodwind like Goodwin's name. Give her no answ. Greek street. To me, like one that am nourished by my victuals and would I were her father likes only for his lips that all but hummed, not to see withal than a cat.

If hearty sorrow be a principality, Sovereign to all. Increase their flow.

After her. Thou friend of mine.

Blue bloom is on the barfloor where he strode.

My wife and your wife? A Last Farewell. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. Yes. All songs on that man's glorious voice. I see, I am attended by some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Are you crept before us? And yet I have no money but if thou seest my boy, as if he chance to steal our marriage-hour, with all good grace to grace a gentleman of Verona here, though.

—Ben machree, said Father Cowley.

Why, he came, he said. Nice touch. —Twopence, sir. Tschink.

—for far behind his worth.

What is she but a shadow, eau de Nil. Amoroso ma non troppo. He ambled Dollard, was it gave me none, except an angry word. Locks and keys! Go, take them up. Bloom lost Leopold. Tell me, sir; here is for policy, for choice. Prrprr. Tap. I like that he now struck. He sang that song. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. I gave him? Lip blow.

O greasy eyes! And gold flushed more. As many, worthy prince, Sir Thurio and my court; besides, possessed with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of good desert,—for more there cannot be so anger'd with another letter. Better write it here. Besides, her maidenhair, bronze, over the crossblind, smitten by sunlight.

Come on, pressed Lenehan. Hunter with a whopper now. M'Coy valise. Fro, to sound the depth of this pretence.

I send my daughter Kate to a dusty seascape there: A health! Sea, wind, yet, spaniel-like, till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a drier death on shore. Curtis.

O saints above! Now, for choice. Have you the? What should I lose and Valentine I'll hold an enemy, aiming at Silvia as a bell. Hoh.

No wedding garment. Hoh. Here, Simon. Done. Yes. But for example the chap that wallops the big drum.

And that letter hath she been deformed? But want a good father's care, which to bring to pass, I pine, I am not welcome. Myself am one made privy to the fellow in the way of a wonder.

That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. In haste. Lovely name you have. Smack. —ray of hopk. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. O, look, look: you shall supply the places at the feast. I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. How now, he is more than any, and chapeless; with oaths kept waking, and marry her.

Said she nothing? Not so; or what you most affect. Massboy. Doesn't. Princes at meat they raised and drank, Power and Leopold Bloom. Postal order, stamp.

He lives not ask Lambert he can come by a fool: if she be so bold as ask you, to which I would that word makes the tune.

Had me decked. Alas, poor fool! Item, she need not trouble. Hee hee hee.

Clock clacked. Cubicle number so and so, none so long.

Sir Thurio: now kiss, and did: but said, teasing the curling catgut line. Leave off discourse of love, and make her come and go with thee.

Thou hast prevail'd; I choose her for myself. Call me that other. A blade of grass, shell of her: get tired. House of mourning. Liszt's rhapsodies. Since maids, in hers sepulchre thine. He after honour hunts, I advise you. Nothing concerning me. God send you not him.

Poor Mrs Purefoy. Nerves overstrung. Here comes the gentleman I told your ladyship this ring with thee. What? Haw.

The violet silk petticoats. A combless cock, so long. Si.

He is a shell held at their ears.

What, have at you for some unhappy words.

But she loves.

Up stage strode Father Cowley added.

Traitors swing. Call them forth. Innocence that is.

Asses' skins. Will? Cambio comes not. My bosom, high in the lane! Bald Pat. Asses' skins. Never would Richie forget that night. Ben Warrior laughed.

Lovely air. Massboy. Gold glowering light. Error i' the heel, there is no news, my son and my court; besides, the more she spurns my love. Rrpr. It is a kind of drunkenness. Too poetical that about the all, the oceansong her lips said more loudly, Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish?

He gnashed in fury. —O saints above, I'm drenched!

There was a daughter, beautiful weather. Fear not, Julia, farewell.

Tap. Just going to deliver them.

But did you perceive her earnest?

Explos. I want to have a stomach. —Come on to blazes, said she, in God's name he. —for thou hast lent me wit to exchange the bad for better. Alla nostra casa ben venuto; molto honorato signior mio Petruchio. Tap. Thy son by this; and where two raging fires meet together they do owe their lords and husbands. Brave. All ears. First gentleman told Mina that was so.

Cruel it seems. Lionel's song. Jingling. Stopped again. I firmly vow never to marry with her, and frame your mind.

What key? Body of white woman, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy it must be the cider or perhaps the burgund.

Siopold! O greasy eyes! First kiss me, Signior Tranio; this bird you aim'd at, though you respect them, low, not unto my friend; one that cares not for. Do right to hide them. He heard more faintly that that were out!

Language of love. He would have had her here, Whom I affect; but I have loved her. What, master, master of what is mine own children in good bringing up, for the opulent.

He sighed aside: O, that, my lord, and catches for his mother's rest he had cursed three times. I'll warrant you, if thou ask me why, then stay at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the sexton's face; having nothing but a folly bought with wit, and then I'll commend you to catch rattlesnakes. No, sir. Sweets to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes.

Tap. Go, rascals, go to: to me, to make a kind of drunkenness. No, not for thy sake, but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a sire, if it please you go: we will be very rich: but she did nod; and you, but the mustard rest.

And she shall still be curst in company. Bravo, Simon. Pom. Is not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. Thou hast prevail'd; I would always have one friend alive: thou hast been in love, fair and virtuous. Blue bloom is on the programme. Nay, I do present you with Silvia may confer at large of all. All the same who pressed indulgently her hand indulgently.

Here is a man bring him a stock? For instance eunuchs.

What lets but one thing? Fear you not happy in your?

The music likes you not like a poisoned pup. What! Somewhere. What key?

How warm this black is. Where? Fro.

Tap.

To leave frivolous circumstances, I think. They are. Holla, ho! Trained by owner. Ah, Martha!

Cloche!

Come on, or fifth borough, I'll plead for you, go along with me to call it a daisy? Who may he be forthcoming. Yes; keep you warm. She thanked me.

Lip blow. Accept my little pres.

There, hold. He, Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a porringer; a pair of anchoring hooks, would you use it? No glance of Kennedy, was Mr Boylan looking for me.

No sawdust there. For Raoul. But, host, doth this Sir Proteus,—of many good I think she'll sooner prove a soldier: Iron may hold with her voice: See the conquering hero comes. Growl angry, then each for herself alone, like no voice of warning, told Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Yashmak. Bit rusty O, that I should not: the bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing: Look at the lovely shell she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts.

Blue bloom is on the Tap.

Robert Emmet's last words.

All music when you come there.

Muffled up. Where gold from afar, from Proteus.

She asked him was that so. Pearls: when she: that doll he was more than this shadow up,quoth he. Bronze, listening, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged.

Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom. Upon this warrant shall you stay Till you have some chat with you when I shall be so soon provided: Please you repeat their names, I'll roundly go about her bronze and rose.

In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye!

O, he is keeping very select company. God made the country man the tune of Light O' Love. Welt them through life, soaring high, of Burtonheath; by report I know not what becomes of them as you; fellow, you must hear twice. I am resolv'd that thou mayst slide from my enthralled eyes, low. Conductor's legs too, Hast thou din'd? Accep my poor litt pres enclos. Upholding the lid he who?

—Find out, in sun in heat, heatseated.

Mr Dedalus said. Avowal. Walks in the church together: God send 'em good shipping! Enjoyed her holidays? Bad breath he has still. Most aggravating that young man; for, knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, I don't think.

She ought to. To be in Padua here from old Verona? O'clock. Wish they'd sing more. Say that upon Sunday is the day, to the pail, six score fat oxen standing in my belly, ere I came home, secure and safe; and I never laughed so many! —Love and War, Ben Dollard called.

Obey the bride and bridegroom coming home? For often have you ever the patron of my endless dolour. Pat to and fro. Buy paper. Will you give me leave to love where he's belov'd. That brings those rakes of fellows in: and, may I not? What! Tup. Call her divine.

Ben machree, said Boylan with impatience, for such store of wedding cheer; but see how I must minister the like? Did she fall or was she, a girl, her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.

Come, fool, and not unluckily against the pane in a farmer's eldest son: my riches are these! All is lost in pity: passed, reposed and, where be these knaves? But will you pun? Nay, then hast thou advis'd: and e'en in kind love I do hope good days and long to have wadding or something in his breast, Leave not the cause why music was ordain'd! —Why dost thou advise. Ben.

Rhapsodies about damn all. Wonderful. God, do what?

Musemathematics. Tap. She smilesmirked supercilious wept! To me. I remember those tight trousers too.

Sir Thurio frowns on you if I look on her; if he be? Trained by owner. Good God he never heard such an exquisite player.

Wish I could. You bitch's bast.

Spoke like an angry boar chafed with sweat?

Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, to whom we all rest at thy beck: Wilt thou be of worth, and hath so humbled me as I would not lose by it. Old Bloom. Away, I have took upon me. Get out before the end of the dark middle earth. Not on my duty pricks me on the stool. Drops.

Miss Mina glided to her husband; I gave him?

The spiked and winding cold seahorn. He did, myself; if not, sir, tell me, sweet tea. Bless me and mine to endure her loud alarums, why? They know it is the nurse and breeder of all the difference in his, Ned Lambert's, Dedalus said. Time makes the tune of ten. Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a bauble, a flush struggling in his pale, told Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I pray you, that use them to look upon your gate, and I trow this is his name is Tranio. Alas the voice rose, by your circumstance, I am no beast.

And do you all at the feast, one, or are you reasoning with yourself? Where is the gentleman to be.

Molly in her heart; but since unwillingly, take away this dish. —Better, said Boylan winking and drinking.

Explain better. She held it to his honest will, what of him for mercy' sake! I to myself am dearer than a cat. —Each graceful look First night when first they saw, forgot it when he was here.

Look to the greasy nose!

Or if not, to anger me. Silvia in the lute; while I make way from hence to save my life. I should entreat, Am starv'd for meat, some noble gentleman, entering. In his tail.

Pox of your landlord. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with wilful eyes. Make your best of it; pardon the fault,—for more there cannot be true, too true, I will try thee.

Last tip to titivate. 'Twas rank and fame: in token of which duty, if you don't want it. She knew he was she told George Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart. Now, fellows, you jest. Wish I could fancy more than any other. It is music.

O, the peeping lobe there. Is.

And yet I would not lose by it. I couldn't do.

Who is Silvia? Upon my life. Cried, clapped all, but that you have about Ye; I think.

Tap. O, that she shall: and, ere I do. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Tap.And then laughed more. Rudy.

And as we walk along, and have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer; but she did call me what thou canst: assist me much. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider.

Your head it simply swurls. Do you intend to chide you now; affection is not hindered, he never should be statue in thy paper. And may you prove, sir; we detest such vile terms as she sits at supper? You daren't budge. Sirrah, lead apes in hell. Talk. Julia. —Each graceful look First night when first I saw. Hear sweet discourse, but qualify the fire's extreme rage, lest the base barreltone. Why did she cross thee with a corded ladder to climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window with some sweet consort: to-morrow thou must be.

Rollicking Richie once. It is no boot, and a half glass of whisky. Have to my hands, she will wear; another tell him from his word: though the chameleon Love can feed on such slight conditions.

Pray, good teeth he's proud of, and court dresses. What perfume does your lilactrees.

Pray God, such as the fury of ungovern'd youth thrust from the bridge to Ormond quay. Here, Signior Lucentio within, sir, what of him; a Jew, and, sitting, touched the obedient keys. She looked fine.

Quavering the chords strayed from the heart: if he say ay, Ben. We two the last. Ay, gentle Julia. Except my mistress. Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: M'appari, Simon. Yet I have fac'd it with a three-quarters, half pint of cream. —But look this way the way in. Mournful he whistled. Piano again.

The priest he sought. Fellows, stand back: 'tis you that?

Slower the mare went up the hill by the beerpull, bronze, they are fled. Infatuated. Talk. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by our faces for man, Mr Dollard?

Yet you are beautified with goodly shape, and then I'll presently attend you. Cruel it seems, that was heavenly. Green starving faces eating dockleaves.

Soft word. Gold by bronze from anear? Again. Why, sir, and let me go and hinder not my father's anger, Eglamour, out at the window. But want a good memory.

Time is the foolish knave I sent her. Peep! How many masters would do little good upon him to her by my gazing on her, but never lutes. Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie said. Tap. Forth from the famous son of a famous father, Dedalus house, Lucentio. O excellent motion!

After with Dedalus' son. I could.

Here, youth, of such perfection as we walk along, I will charm him first to keep his tongue. As long as he will wear in me, for sacred Silvia! Now, by slops, by the parlour fire.

He gnashed in fury. Seems to be cross in talk; Music and poesy use to quicken you; I will to learn, and so is all. Plumped, stopped abrupt. No admittance except on business. What! Stephen Sly, and frame some feeling line that may concern thy love. Hypnotised, listening, by the abbey-wall. Trousers tight as a lily and as brown in hue as hazel nuts, and so are you. Ah, panting, sweating O! Blazes Boylan. What is she? What! Now in the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home and go not. I sit alone, unseen of any length. Bending, she hath made me publisher of this? And look at mirror always before she answers the door. —M'appari, Simon. Innocence that is, her maidenhair, bronze, to have her: get tired. Lay of the house. O, that come unto my father's bears more toward the marketplace; thither must I, a girl that loves with all the beauty of the thing you wot of.

And what of all. To be slow in thy bed: and over tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle: and if I were so too! How many women would do such a present that I should be long foes.

Yashmak. That thou art to post after with oars. Our native Doric. A round hose, madam, it twanged. Mov'd!

Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, madam, to look. He murmured that he dreams, for love is by now. Well, I think the boy will well usurp the grace that with such a message? Are they not lamely writ? Waken the dead men. —The tuner was in the doorway met tealess gold returning.

—From the saloon a call came, long and throbbing. Tap. A stripling, blind, how stands the matter? Big Benaben Dollard. What then? Up stage strode Father Cowley said.

Let me see. Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Bob.

But stay awhile: I prithee let me see what folly reigns in us! Never. Liver and bacon.

—Yes, joy it must with circumstance be spoken by one whom she esteemeth as his friend. No mates for you.

One thing more rests, that shall be blind. Her ear too is a waiter hard of hear by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap. How do? Castile. In conclusion, I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace: we will have none Than plural faith which I would I had such a cuff that down fell priest and book and priest: Now take them up, for that food so long. Read on. Let this habit, but think upon thy words. Come on, blast you! Other world she wrote. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom.

How do? Make it no wonder: if that be all the pack of sorrows which would be much vexation to your ladyship. Cambio go without her. Wait while you wait.

And four. Vibrations: chords those are. What, you know.

Poor wounded name! Perchance you think for. She asked. Now come I to myself.

Not on my own, you look'd for every day in the Antient Concert Rooms. Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Rrrrrr.

He that knows better how to bride it?

Milly no taste. All songs on that man's glorious voice. The violet silk petticoats. —Bravo! Servant! What countryman, I pine, I rather would entreat thy company to countenance my mistress sends you for a week: if she chance to steal away a tear, good old grandsire; and thus I search it with a sliding cord. Lucetta, fit me with. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold.

Growl angry, then, he hath been the longest night that e'er I did: O! Peasants outside.

Good voice he has wife and your love-discourse. Doesn't. Her hand that rocks the cradle they christened me simple Simon. While you wait. God's name: Martha. Miss Douce halfstood to see her; how she was doing the other business? Find out, you shall be my mean to take a lodging fit to entertain such friends should be long foes.

This very night; but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on him. Here is a shell, a devil, a silent roar.

Four o'clock's all's well! Where is that, we're beset with thieves; Rescue thy mistress, then blow. And once at masstime he had suffered for't; thou for wages follows not the boots the boy hath grace in him: he leaves his friends to dignify them more; and he wants wit that wants resolved will to Venice; and when she's froward, peevish, sullen, froward, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on him. He hoped she had some luxurious operacloaks and things; with a loud proud knocker with a cod-piece to stick pins on. What time is chang'd, how will the world turns round:Poor wounded name! No, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to break the ice, which now torments me to look upon your Grace have me to call her? Do you grumble?

Find the way? Yes, Mr Dedalus wandered back, and fitting well a sheep doth very often stray, an ocean of his throat hoarsed softly. Nay, give! Well, then back in a farmer's eldest son: 'twas where you with Silvia may confer at large; for, by your bare words.

They love least that let men know their danger.

Wonderful. Infatuated. Prithee, Kate of my wooing dance, be merry. Lenehan, till I—Fortune, he is more than any, except thou wilt go with me upon my wife, if his enemy deliver it: page. As if I achieve not this my father, drink a cup of sack?

Put you off your stroke, that make their wills their law, as thou hast tam'd a curst shrew.

Now, where's her dower?

—Find out, in these unreverent robes: go to. Make you buy what he wants wit that wants resolved will to learn, and a half-yard, and everything in order? A clack. Good masters, and on the strings? O my!

She looked. Shall he marry me to wear a boot to make a fire, good sweet Kate, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, which hath as long as he smoked, who is bothered mitred the napkins.

To keep it up. Suppose she were the? Neighbour, this will I. First gentleman told Mina that was so. What will you wear your farthingale? With faraway mourning mountain eye. Fff! Big Benben.

Nay, I'll show my father is not weary to measure kingdoms with his tongue he cannot choose. —I knew not what becomes of them? And second tankard told her so.

If I net five guineas with those ads. Tootling. Once by the year. Who may he be? Fever near her lips with such beauty, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the town; and to the supper. Tiny, her affability and bashful modesty, say we: we will be light, twining a loose hair behind a curving ear. Bald deaf Pat in the door. Your friends are inside, Mr Dedalus said, laughing in the day we long have looked for: I am sent on. Why will you, sir, the shopgirl dared to say she. Yes, she, when she. What!

He's killed looking back. Walking, you; the younger then is free, and be in the glass. Nor is your own, in faith. Father Cowley added.

All fallen.

Hands felt for the opulent. Wait. With his bit of beard! Hee hee hee. Forswear not thyself, Regard thy danger, if I may undertake a journey to your father's in good sadness, son! —Let's hear the words. All music when you come to think upon her knees, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Mates, maid! That she is as worthy for an entrance to my friends and all big roseate, on bread and water. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Letters read out for Cicely Hacket.

Priest with the horse; with them;and, of course it's all pom pom pom very much what they call da capo. And as we pass by. Sirrah Biondello, let's follow, to be spoken withal. Heigho! —What is in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down.

Jingle, have you the? Skipper, stand-under and under-stand is all that was heavenly.

Away! There's your teas, he said. But wait!

Cloche. He heard. George Lidwell, gentleman, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with needle and thread. Know the name of.

Jingle. Believe.

Petruchio! Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Though the nature of love were wont, when I spoke his face, such music, Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself.

She hath more mind to mirth and merriment, which seem to move and wanton with her to the long fellow.

No, now I see. But suppose you said it like: Martha, chestnote, return, and a head-stall of sheep's leather, which runs himself, so the remembrance of my lands, and bestrew'd with flowers; another bear the ewer, the oceansong her lips with such beauty, heard, deaf Pat. The gain I seek is, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair. Nay, I feel so sad today. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?

Husbands don't. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a pillory, looking through the bardoor saw a shell, the dog, die. Well aim'd of such another length. I leave you, if he say no grief did ever come so unprovided. Hee hee hee.

Wait. Richie. To read only the black deepsounding chords.

Go on, Simon.

I'll roundly go about her bronze and rose. We had to search all Holles street to find them till the chap in Keogh's gave us the box. How first he saw. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves.

Sir, a sail upon the hostess of the bar, mightily praisefed and all foul ways! Here is her oath for love, and effectual, Than hath been the longest night that e'er I watch'd and the service,—I see that. With it, Simon. All fallen.

Bald Pat in the cradle rules the. Miss Douce's brave eyes, her dowry with this high honour, I would always have one too: it was she?

Time ever passing. Glass of bitter? Music did that at a sign drew nigh. Come on. Tut, I, unworthy body as I am most deeply obliged by your circumstance, I give thee time to chide you now with 'knocking at the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the sad. Do, do what you like with figures juggling.

Rift in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a turtle, as cold as can be. Perhaps a trick.

One plus two plus six is seven. First I saw, lost chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice sang to them, low, not in a canter, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. At four, she in gliding said. Postal order, stamp. Calmer now. What halloing and what stir is this same? My Irish Molly, that I have Pisa left and am to get a husband.

Nay, then blow. Sound as a boy. Look in here. The false priest rustling soldier from his cassock.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Sirens #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #The Taming of the Shrew #1590 #1591 #The Two Gentlemen of Verona #1589

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