#in swedish it's a clothes chamber and THAT'S what I want

[wildwood-faun]

FULLY expected the apartment I went to look at to be nothing special but it was SO lovely hdgkgkfk. it's not the one with the floor plan I posted on here (won't know anything about that one until the 21st) which makes things Slightly difficult but at the same time no! this one is too expensive! Doesn't matter that it had impeccable vibes and a nice view and windows you can sit in and a pretty ceiling adn....

[pinkiepiebones]

Prompts you say? Yeah, can I get uhh...One time our resident spokesghoul goes "off the script" to be a little shit, vs one time doing it to do something nice? (Not the most exciting, but 1, the Pretending to Human matters are amusing, and 2, valid excuse for fluff for contrast?)

(I have no interviews on hand to reference so please forgive me for making shit up)

One Time Special Ran His Mouth (Malicious) and One Time He Also Ran His Mouth (Affectionate)

2012ish

Special pretended to adjust his mask. He wasn't really wearing a mask, of course, nor was he wearing clerical vestments. He had altered his appearance using glamour magic and shapeshifting. No longer was he a human-sized, black eyed mouthless gargoyle known as a nameless Ghoul; he appeared in every sense to be a guy wearing a black mask and a black costume. A guy called a nameless Ghoul. He checked his hands to make sure, again, that his talons were vanished. He glanced at his reflection in the plastic cup out of which he pretended to take an occasional drink of water- yup, he looked like he had human eyes, brilliant green and even crinkled at the edges to make the illusion of "smiling under a mask."

The interviewer had asked some average questions. Special had become very good at answering questions about the band although he was not in it. He knew instruments and the sounds they made. He knew the lyrics. He knew that listening was important, and responding appropriately was important. He knew that waving his hands about as he answered was acceptable to do, as was occasionally saying something like "sorry, English is not my first language" is the interview was in English. He had even practiced with Copia three whole times, using the approved question-and-answer list Sister Imperator provided. Special was practically a professional interview-giver guy. Until he got asked a question no one had prepped.

"So, what is Papa like off stage? Are you friends?"

"Psssh, no way are we friends," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Guys an asshole, top shelf, prime cut asshole."

"Oh no!"

"Uh, of course! Thinks 'cause he can sing and stalk about in his Papa poncho and still get his dick up, he can treat us ghouls like shit." Special crosses his arms. "I gots stories, man."

"Give me one."

"Ehhhh..." Had Special been a human, a nagging feeling on his shoulder or the back of his neck would have told him to stop. Unfortunately, Special was not human and dis not possess what many refer to as 'common sense.'

"Okay! Okay, so this one time, us ghouls are thinking of pranking His Unholy Prick, eh? He's got these dogs, not of Hell but very large, that he likes to sic in us at times. He needs to be taken down a peg, therefore, prank. So we're like, 'itching powder on the underpants,' very classic. We all do the- what's it, when you walk like-" Special moves to mime the images in his head, walking index and middle finger carefully along the arm rest of his chair-

"Sneaking?"

"Yes, that! We ghouls sneaked into Papa's chambers and we start to look for where this old buzzard keeps his delicates, but after fifteen goddamned minutes of digging through drawers of clothing and sex toys and drugs stashes and such we come to the realisation that he owns none! He just, he's- freeballin', you know? Every concert, every sermon, and this will haunt my mind until my death."

"Wow."

Special nods. Then thinks. "You're not going to print this, right?"

"What? No, this is all going in, it's gold!"

"Ah. Well I'm sure nothing will come of it. I'll be fine."

~2022~

Special wants so much to do interviews in his "humansona" but he also understands how confusing that might be for some people, especially those who think the band is a product of some Swedish guy's imaginings, so he suits up in a copy of his band siblings' stage outfits and sits down for the interview. He is much more comfortable about doing interviews, much more engaging- not that that was ever at issue, but now his confidence really shines through. His shapeshifted teeth are visible and imperfect and he grins widely. His eyes are bright green and shining behind the lenses of his helmet. He is a perfect image of "guy wearing a steampunk-goblin-military-something or other costume." They go through the usual things- the new album, the concept, the songs, the stage show. Then the interviewer tries to get to know the Ghoul.

"So, what is Papa like off stage? Are you friends?"

Special nods solemnly. "You could say that."

Before the interviewer can ask, he elaborates. "This Papa, he is the kindest one we've worked with. Perhaps this is because we knew him first as the Cardinal and we had that time to, to get acquainted, all of us. I gotta admit, I was at first quite worried when he took the Papa title, but he's-" Special chuckles, mindful to not blurt out that he and Copia have been dating for the past quarter-century- "-he's a sweet, good guy. Always up for a chat, you know?"

"Does the rest of the band feel the same way?"

Special nods. "For sure, I mean, again, we have more familiarity with him, you know, mannerisms and 'during this song do this, then move to this part of the stage,' blah blah blah. He is a, uhh, firm-handed director, I want to say all of us nameless Ghouls feel. The previous guys were dictatorial and bitter in degrees but Copi- excuse me, Papa- is maybe on his worst days 'stern schoolteacher who has not had coffee' on the scale of asshole attitudes. Like, yeah, he might yell, but these are very rare instances, and we all know, well, it's from a good place. He's never cross with us, he just wants us to be the best ghouls we can be."

"That's so sweet."

"It really is, yes." Special pretends to take a drink of water.

"So, since we're on the topic of Papa, I need to know- is he the son of Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil?"

Special pretends, quite effectively, to choke on his water. He sputters and thumps at his chest with his fist a few times for theatrics. "Shit, I do not want to think about that."

"About their relationship?"

"No, no, about Papa being Papa's, ugh. Is he Sister's son? Most likely. She certainly cares for him the way a mother figure might care for a son. But Nihil? Nihil being his dad?" Special waves his hand dismissively. "I don't believe it. Co- Papa does not have the asshole gene the previous Papas did. That particular streak of petty cruelty is genetic, I am sure, and Papa Copia don't have it. You can quote me!"

[nambabyy]

Ivar x Reader // Hands before words

Notes: First of all, this is for @youbloodymadgenius ‘s writing challenge. This is my first time writing a smut and also writing in english, so I apologise for the grammatical mistakes.

Summary: You and Ivar had a love/hate relationship, but in spite of your arguments, you did have a truly attraction for each other. So, when Ivar has to marry a woman in order to have descendants and be seen as a powerful ruler, you obviously expect he chooses you. Nevertheless, he doesn’t.

Warnings: smut, NSFW, fingering

Prompts: you’re hot

Ivar. It has always been Ivar. The one who made you blush, the one who made you shiver, the one who made you love.

Your relationship was kinda odd, you liked to fight, to tease each other. But at the end of the day, all that it was left was how he made you feel and the looks he gave you when you two were in a crowded space, like if he was ready to eat you alive.

When the moment came, you didn’t have much doubt that he would choose you. He had to marry a woman and start to have descendants, in order to be seen as a strong ruler. But he did not. He didn’t choose you for that purpose, instead, he decided to marry a Swedish woman who hadn’t even lived in Kattegat before. It was so random that you could have never expected it.

You were at the Great Hall, having a fest, since king Ivar had announced early that morning who he was going to marry. You had to be there, but of course you weren’t celebrating anything. You were heartbroken, shattered and in so much pain seeing another woman next to Ivar. But he kept looking at you with those eyes, that heavy look of his. He was a great eye fucker, but you weren’t in the mood for that.

Suddenly, he stood up and came to you. He lowered his face, approaching his mouth to your ear.

“I want you in my chamber. Now.”

You started to tremble. You weren’t sure if it was because of his words or because of his breathing on your sensitive skin. The point is that you had to recover yourself, so you stood up from the table and excuse yourself for leaving the fest. You walked to Ivar’s chamber and closed the door afterwards. He was sat at his king size bed, looking at you with hungry eyes.

“I knew you wouldn’t make me wait.” He smiled, giving you goosebumps. You would never get over that smile of his. He was just too freaking handsome.

“What do you want from me?”

“I just saw that sad look on your face at the fest. I want to make it up to you.”

What was he even talking about? He couldn’t make up anything, apart of cancelling that stupid wedding. Was he even conscious about what really happed to you?

“Come here.” He tapped his lap and your heart shook in arousal. “C’mon, I won’t bite you. Not until you beg me for it.”

Gods, you were trying so hard to stay strong. You wanted to leave because your feelings for him were such a great deal and this would only make it worse. But somehow, your legs acted by themselves and decided to approach to him. He squeezed your waist as he looked you in the eye. He was so powerful, he could make you do anything just giving you that look.

“Up.”

Obediently, you sat in his lap. His muscles were tight and strong, and you could feel the heat of his skin through his clothes.

“That’s the second time I told you that. Don’t make me repeat myself again tonight.”

You nodded, too afraid and too exited for what could happen if you disobeyed his orders one more time. Then he caressed your cheek and set aside the hair that covered your neck, leaving it exposed. He passed his nose all over it and licked your earlobe. His wet and hot saliva had an impact on you body, so you tightened your legs in respond. Ivar let out a silent laugh, but keep licking you as well as rubbing his hands trough your waist until he reached your breasts. You weren’t sure what he was going to do, so when he ripped off your dress using so much of strength, you let out a little scream.

He squeezed one of your breasts and used his thump to draw circles in your sensitive nipple. With the other hand he started to approach to your private parts, making you moan the first moment he touched them.

“So wet already. Do I really have such an effect on you?”

You couldn’t speak. Your senses were overwhelmed and he was only gently touching you.

“I haven’t even started with you yet.”

You felt so small under his glance. Like if you was a toy, ready for him to use. But you were looking at him and the need for his lips was growing, despairing you. You pulled him by his neck and pressed your lips over to his. You immediately open your mouth and welcomed his soft tongue. Both of you played for a few seconds, until he pulled off, leaving you dissatisfied. You needed more.

He smirked, being conscious about your desperation for more. Your mouth was still lightly open, and you licked your lower lip just to remember his taste.

“You’re incredibly hot.” He mumbled with a husky voice.

Then his fingers resumed the movement on your entrance, pressing gently on that one sensitive spot. Your whole body tensed, and a little moan escaped your lips. But he was doing it so painfully slow that it made you want to cry.

“Ivar, please.” You moaned, grabbing him with your arms and diving your nails at his back.

“Please what?”

“Fuck, Ivar...” You were frustrated. He had you where we wanted you. You were about to reach the highest point of arousal, but he kept you there, waiting for you to beg him.

“You want me to stop, right?” He teased, actually stopping. His fingers were paralysed under your entrance and you unconsciously stared to rub yourself onto him. But again, he grabbed your waist so strongly that you could not move. “If you’re so needy, why don’t you say it? I want to hear you beg, babygirl. I want you desperate.”

“Ivar, please, make me cum.” You begged, almost starting to cry. He gave you a satisfied smirk and pressed his fingers to your entrance again. The movement now was so rapid, you could almost feel the orgasm coming.

“Don’t.” He commanded. Your body stretched again, trying so hard to obey him. This was his way of torturing you and he enjoyed it so much. You wanted to be good and do it as he pleased but it was painfully difficult.

“Shit. I can’t.” You stammered, closing your eyes so hard. The second later, I notice his hand was grabbing your neck and he squeezed it enough to make you crave for air.

“Do not fucking disobey me, little one.”

You looked deep into his dark eyes, begging for aire. When your face was starting to turn red, he loosen up his grip and you took a big breath. He loved to see you at the very end of your strength. Before you recovered yourself, he took your lower lip between his teeth, squeezed it and then kissed you hard. At that point, the orgasm was coming again and you were trying so hard to fight it.

“That’s right, babygirl. You’re doing it so well. It’s so fucking wet down here.” He whispered against your lips.

You tried to smile back, but you were in actual pain. You craved it so much, you couldn’t even think of anything else. Probably, his back was full of scratches, but you couldn’t help it. He was driving you crazy.

Ivar kept playing with his fingers and threatening with his hand over your neck, making just a small pressure. On the other hand, you couldn’t avoid rubbing your hips against his, making much more friction. Obviously, the faster you moved, the firmer grip he made in your neck.

“May I cum, please?” You asked politely. Your whole body was trembling already and you weren’t going to last long with this little game of his.

“Yes, you may. Cum for me, little one.”

It was said and done. Your body fulfilled with the sensation, liberating the tension that Ivar had accumulated for so long. Your eyes rolled back as he looked directly into you, yet with his hand on you neck, controlling your every movement. When you opened your eyes again you found a beautiful smile in his red lips.

“You’re such a good girl, baby.”

He kissed your forehead and you closed your eyes again. Resting on him, surrounded by his strong arms. But you were still sitting on his lap, probably you left a very wet disaster down in his pants. You touched his trousers just to make sure how soaking wet they were.

“Don’t worry about it, babygirl. You will make it up in a minute.”

Part 2

[phoenixfeatherquill]

Midwinter (1/5)

AN: I’m doing a Midsommar fic and you guys can’t stop me. I’m in the mood for dark fucked up smut, so sue me. A friend on Twitter helped me with the Swedish!

They were going to kill her next.

It was only logical.  Once the Midsommar celebrations were complete, once her title of May Queen was completed, once the community settled into their usual routines, Dani felt certain they would kill her.  Perhaps for their next ritual.  A harvest festival?  A midwinter ceremony?  Dani didn’t know.  She didn’t especially care.

The thought did not concern her.  Death was no longer something to be feared, just an inevitability she would reckon with when the time came.  She had lost her sister, her parents, and now Christian…

She did not want to think about Christian.  His death had brought her a euphoric, crazed delight, a sense of control that she’d never felt before.  

She smiled.  It was still dark, but she knew it was morning.  Her body had shifted its circadian rhythms to accept darkness as a reality in the fall and winter, She smiled a lot more nowadays, it seemed.  

“Dani? Are you awake?”

She shifted to her side.  Her bed used to be next to Christian’s and Josh’s, but now there was no more Christian or Josh.  Now her bed lay next to Pelle’s, which gave her a curious combination of fear and protection.  

“Now I am,” She whispered back to him.  

“It’s morning now,” He said softly and sat up. “Let’s walk together.”

She raised herself up on one elbow.  No one else seemed to be up, save for a few mothers who were cooing at fussy babies.  

“It’s still dark,” She murmured.

“It will get darker as we get closer to Yule. Come. It’ll be too cold for morning walks soon.”

He offered his hand to her.  Pelle had been taking her on a lot of walks lately.  He was an early riser naturally, something that Dani would never be able to relate to, but she shrugged nevertheless and pulled on a pair of denim shorts.  

Pelle shook his head.  “Too cold for those. Almost October.”

She looked at him.  He knew perfectly well that she only had about a week’s worth of clothes, all summer garments.  She was only supposed to have been here for a week.

“Here,” He tossed her a pair of fleece-lined pants.  She’d seen him wear them before.  They were far too big for her, but she was able manage them, tightening the strings as far as they would go.  He gave her a sweatshirt too and she tugged it on as well.  It smelled a little of peppermint and something flipped in her stomach.  She hadn’t worn another man’s clothes since Christian…

“Ready?” He asked her with a smile.  

“You owe me coffee,” She returned and pulled on her sneakers.  

“Deal,” He took her hand in his and led her outside.

It was that odd time of morning partial to Sweden, where darkness surrounded the community but light framed the edges, as though the sun wanted to come out but wasn’t sure how.  The cold grass tickled Dani’s ankles and she shivered a little.  Pelle squeezed her hand a little as they began to make their usual rounds about the compound.  

“I’m surprised it hasn’t snowed,” She commented.

“Soon,” Pelle told her. “Probably this week, actually. We’ll need to get you warmer clothes.”

Dani said nothing.  She didn’t see much point in that, since she was fairly certain they would kill her eventually.  Still, Pelle seemed to expect a response, so she said simply, “I like wearing your clothes.”

Pelle laughed.  “I like you wearing them too. But they’re too tall for you. You’re so small, Dani.”

His voice was undeniably tender and Dani looked up at him.  He cared for her, at least of a sort.  Months and months had passed since the summer solstice. Perhaps he was fond enough of her to be truthful now.

She stopped short in front of the remains of the burned temple.  The fastidious Hårga had not cleaned up much of the temple ruins; she could still see the blackened pieces of wood all around. She inhaled deeply and smelled the incoming frost Pelle warned her of—but in her mind’s eye, she could still smell the pungent stench of burning flesh.  

“When will you rebuild it?” She asked him.

“Spring,” Pelle told her. “One of our rituals to welcome the sun. And you’ll preside, as our May Queen.”

Dani looked at him hard. “Will I?”

Pelle looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I’m the last one left,” She said pointedly. “How long do I have?”

Realization clouded Pelle’s sky blue eyes.  “Oh, Dani…no. You are our May Queen. We won’t have another queen for ninety years; until the next Midsommar celebration…that is, we will still celebrate the solstice. But not like last time.”

Dani digested this.  She doubted this meant that the Hårga would let her leave.  This didn’t particularly bother her though, because Dani was having trouble remembering what there was to return to.  Her family was dead, Christian was gone, and she couldn’t quite summon the energy to care about finishing her degree.  She had friends that were probably wondering where she was.

“What will I do here?” She asked him.

“Whatever you please,” Pelle told her seriously. “We honor the May Queen. She is…our goddess, you might say.”

Dani considered.  “What does that entail?”

“Different ceremonies,” Pelle knelt down and picked up a bit of charred wood interestedly. “A ceremony to say goodbye to the sun—we’ll symbolically say goodbye to you and you will sleep in your own rooms, rather than in the common area. When spring comes again, we welcome the sun and you back into our common area. We celebrate, we feast, we make merry—”

“Sounds lonely,” Dani said without thinking.  She wasn’t sure where that came from.  When she first arrived at Hårga, she’d resented the lack of privacy.  The cacophony of coughs, snores, and lovemaking kept her up at all hours.  But somehow she’d gotten used to it and her own chambers, separate from the Hårga seemed isolating.  

“No, no,” Pelle shook his head. “We adore our May Queen. We…pamper her, you might say. The best foods, wines, ales, whatever she needs. And she may choose a consort, if she wishes.”

He tossed the charred wood towards the temple and Dani started a bit. “Consort?”

“Yes,” Pelle replied but didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.  Dani waited a few moments and when she realized Pelle wasn’t going to continue, she exhaled.

“What does a consort do?” She crossed her arms.

A small, somewhat sly smile crossed Pelle’s face.  “Oh…whatever the May Queen desires.”

“Ah,” Dani kicked a piece of burnt wood. “I get it. I don’t know if I’d be into that.”  

Pelle cocked his head.  “Oh?”

She really did not want to get into this conversation.  Besides, he’d been close to Christian, hadn’t he?  He probably had heard all about how bad she was in bed, how frigid she was, how there was something wrong with her.  She chewed her lip.  She had walked in on Christian complaining to Mark about this very subject once, and she recalled the burning humiliation and the subsequent fight.  

“I don’t want to force anyone to do anything they don’t want to,” Dani said finally. “Especially with me.”

“No one forces anyone to do anything,” Pelle told her earnestly. “It’s considered an honor to be chosen by the May Queen. But people may refuse the gift, if they wish.”

“They’d refuse with me,” Dani retorted.

“What makes you say that?”

“Pelle,” Dani sighed. “I’m not stupid. I know—I know Christian complained about me to you and Mark and Josh.”

The sun had just started its slow ascent and Dani noticed its cautious gold touch the tips of Pelle’s hair.  He was silent for a long moment, as though trying to pick his words carefully.  

“Christian was my dear friend,” He said finally. “But he—was not always honest with himself.”

He scratched his head. “My sister was not overly impressed by him. Nor my aunts.”

Pelle was referring to the strange, outlandish sex ritual Dani had caught Christian participating in with Pelle’s underage sister.  She shuddered at the memory.  

“Is that what it’s like here?” She asked in disgust. “All those women watching? Chanting?”

He shrugged.  “Not always. Maja wanted to get pregnant. It was her first time, so she was nervous. Our aunties were there to support her, comfort her, ask the gods for a baby.”

There was so much of Hårga culture Dani would never understand.  Women crooning over her as a man penetrated her—the idea seemed repulsive.  The ritual seemed to have worked, in any case; Maja had announced her pregnancy a week prior.  The news had filled Dani with the strangest emotion of all—apathy.  She did not care that Maja was having Christian’s baby. She had no jealousy, no anger, just blissful neutrality.  

“My point is,” Pelle cleared his throat. “I thought—I have always thought—Christian was unfair to you.”

Dani narrowed her eyes.  “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“No,” He shook his head. “In fact…”

He hesitated for a moment and Dani stared at him curiously.  The sun had nearly risen now, and people were leaving the common area to prepare breakfast and start their early morning chores.  

“I would show you,” Pelle said finally. “If you were to choose me as your consort.”

Dani’s mouth went dry.  She hadn’t felt this taken aback since she’d been named the May Queen and he’d taken her face in his hands and kissed her so deeply.  Color rushed to her cheeks and she couldn’t figure out how to respond.

“Pelle! Jag måste prata med dig.”

Ulf was calling him.  Pelle cast a almost mischievous grin towards her and jogged towards Ulf.  Ulf glanced at her and gave her a cautious smile.  Dani couldn’t seem to figure out how to move her legs.  She watched the two men disappear around one of the cabins, speaking in rapid Swedish.  

I would show you, if you were to choose me as your consort.

She hadn’t planned on choosing anyone as her consort.  Spending the entire winter having her every whim catered to seemed a promising prospect (though who could really tell with the silver-tongued Hårga), but the whole concubine nonsense seemed…archaic.  She didn’t need a consort.  She was just fine on her own.  Sex was stressful and Christian had played on every insecurity of hers when they were together, making the whole prospect seem so unappealing…it had been a relief when he stopped bothering her for sex, which only happened after her family died…

She thought of the barely concealed disgust on Pelle’s face as he’d delicately suggested that Christian had been the problem, not her.  She was also forced to admit that she thought of his kiss more often than she should. It was not the gentle kisses on her cheeks her handmaids (as they called themselves) gave her when she was crowned, but something altogether deep and passionate.  

He hadn’t kissed her again, so did it truly matter?

She started towards one of the cabins, where she knew they would be preparing breakfast.  But as she crossed the commune, she couldn’t help but hear Pelle and Ulf speaking passionately.  

They were standing near Pelle’s garden and hadn’t noticed her—not that they would’ve cared.  Most of the Hårga believed her Swedish was rudimentary at best, and they were mostly right.  But while her conversation skills were lacking, Dani understood more than they thought.  

She was not an eavesdropper at any rate, so she would’ve walked on by—until she heard her name.  

“Stannar du här på grund av Dani?”

She froze.  She understood that sentence.  Ulf was asking Pelle if he was staying because of her.  In an instant, she remembered that Pelle was in university too and had not returned to finish his degree.  

“Hon är ensam.”

She is…something.  But by the concern in Pelle’s tone, Dani guessed he was explaining why.  

“Din resa är inte slut än.”

Ulf was telling him he wasn’t finished with…a journey?  His journey.  

“Mitt öde är här.”

Pelle’s journey was…here.  Here?  

“Älskar du henne?”

She didn’t understand that one.  Ulf was asking him something.  Something about her.

“Ja.”

Yes. Dani shook herself.  Enough snooping.  She was hungry.  So what if it sounded like Pelle was staying in Hårga for her?  What did it matter?  They would dispose of her as soon as she inevitably offended them. Like Mark.  Like Josh.  Pelle was too optimistic.  And anyway, why should she trust him?

The memory of his lips on hers flashed through her mind.  She swallowed hard.

Fuck.

[suzylwade]

Colville “The impetus for Colville was that we all liked working together. Partnerships, be they emotional or business, are the hardest things to get right. I love colour and decoration; Kristin is a demon about tailoring; Molly is more left of field - and yet out of all our quirks, we have somehow made what we do have a 360-degree point of view. What we all enjoyed doing at ‘Marni’ was addressing quite a lot of women’s desires - from jewellery and tailoring to print and texture. It didn’t necessarily belong together under one roof, but boy, I really enjoyed putting it under one. I think there are women out there who are looking for all those things.” - Lucinda Chambers, Co-Founder ‘Colville’. ‘Colville’ - a new collaboration from ‘Marni’ alumnae Molly Molloy and Kristin Forss (they designed the women’s and men’s collections, respectively) and Lucinda Chambers (she styled, sprinkling the fairy dust) - made its debut in May, 2018. It is the perfect combination of coolness, classicism and quirky. The label’s name comes from a West London street that was very much part of the city’s David Hockney 1970s, yet it is resolutely of today in its internationalist spirit - Chambers and Molloy are British, Forss is Swedish, and they operate between London and Milan - and outlook. Colville was founded on principles of respect and equality of expression, and while it comprises three distinct voices, the designers quite clearly speak in unison. They are their own best customer. They design clothes they want to wear, they try everything on and if one of them doesn’t like something, it’s back to the drawing board. Using recycled fabrics has become a trademark feature, with ‘Colville’s’ most successful garment to date being a vintage cropped shrug track jacket made from 1980s tracksuits. Future plans for ‘Colville’ include a homeware collection and building on its designer collaborations - a crucial part of the brand philosophy - which have so far included jeweller Valeria Bersanetti and shoe designer Matteo Mena. https://www.instagram.com/p/CROKwQsF-aD/?utm_medium=tumblr

[under-the-lake]

Shape-Shifting Part 1: Transfiguration and Creatures in the Harry Potter Books and European Lore

Animagi, werewolves, Transfiguration… all those shape-shifting forms appear in the Harry Potter series. They can be voluntary or not, linked to a spell, a curse/disease or to the sheer will of the shape-shifter, but they are always quite spectacular. Werewolves are part of the folklore in the northern hemisphere. But what about Animagi? Are shape-shifters a mere figment of Rowling’s imagination or are there shape-shifter stories in different cultures around the world? The answer is definitely the second option, and here are some examples (I can’t promise this paper to be short, I’m afraid :( … However, I can safely promise I won’t take examples from Cursed Child. )

I’ll start with a review of what shape-shifting means in Rowling’s novels, before going for a little tour of some cultures I want to explore regarding shape-shifting.

In the Harry Potter books and Fantastic Beasts-the film

To start with, let’s consider the types of shape-shifting appearing in Rowling’s books: Werewolves, Animagi, Metamorphmagi, Transfigured people, Boggarts, Kelpies, Veela. For the creatures, I’ll try and give a short -snorts- account of the image Muggles have of them, in their folklore.

Werewolves were already discussed a bit in other papers on this blog, so let’s leave them out of this one. For the rest, here goes:

1. Use of a Spell or a Potion

Transfiguration allows the wizard to change the shape of a fellow human into that of another animal, like Moody did with Draco when he turned the latter into a ferret, or into that of another human being. This is a means of shape-shifting using a spell, obviously. The first ever dated record of human Transfiguration was the one happening during a Quidditch match in 1473, when a Chaser was turned into a polecat. Of course, that kind of transformation had happened before. Take Circe, for instance, who was famous for turning sailors into pigs. She lived thousands of years ago. Some examples are more recent, like the one of Gellert Grindelwald, who was superskilled at Transfiguration, and lived as MACUSA Auror Percival Graves in 1926 New York. Transfiguring someone into an animal would cause that person to become an animal fully, not retaining one ounce of humanity, meaning that they could perform no magic of their own, and would need the mediation of another wizard to get back to their human form (I wonder what happens to their clothes and especially to their wand during that time, and also if the one who transfigured the wizard would then become master of the wand, since it sort of defeated its owner…).

Transfiguration in the case of Animagi is going to be dealt with later, because it’s a different form of Transfiguration than just casting a spell. Transfiguration spells are numerous, according to various sources. However, the books don’t mention the spells per se, so I won’t list them here.

There are also examples of humans transforming themselves into humans, by means of Polyjuice Potion. Harry, Ron and Hermione used it in Chamber of Secrets to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room, and they also did use it in Deathly Hallows to enter the Ministry of Magic while trying to retrieve Slytherin’s locket from Umbridge, while trying to get food when they were on the run and finally when breaking into Gringotts to get Hufflepuff’s cup from Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault. In Goblet of Fire, Barty Crouch Jr. drank it all year round to impersonate Alastor Moody, whom he kept secured in a trunk all the time to get hair for his potion. We also know that Draco Malfoy made Crabbe and Goyle drink it and turned them into girls while they were keeping watch outside the Room of Requirement in Half-Blood Prince. Finally, at the beginning of Deathly Hallows, six people turn into Harries so as to keep danger -relatively- at bay while moving Harry from Privet Drive to the Burrow. Rowling made quite a use of Polyjuice. And as far as I know, I might have forgotten occurrences.

I have no recollection of any other potion in the books that would allow the drinker to change form. Since it’s considered Dark Magic, it’s only consistent it would be so. After all, the recipe for the Polyjuice Potion is found in a book called Moste Potente Potions, that is kept in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library, because of all the gruesome stuff it contains, according to Hermione. Shape-shifting is not legal in the wizarding world, unless you’re a registered Animagus (see next paper). I can understand why there’s no more potions about that.

The use of a spell or a potion to change someone’s appearance is not common in cultures around the world - at least not to my knowledge; if you know something, tell me. It’s a pretty artificial way of achieving shape-shifting, and it is restricted to myths and legends.

2.Creatures

Form-changing creatures are more common, even outside the wizarding world. According to Newt Scamander (and I’m sticking to book canon here), there aren’t many shape-shifters among the Magical Creatures. In Fantastic Beasts And Where to Find Them, Scamander mentions only the Kelpie. In the Harry Potter series we come across a couple of other creatures, namely the Boggart and the Veela. It’s strange that they aren’t mentioned in Fantastic Beasts, at least for the Boggart, since it’s definitely a beast (maybe it’s because nobody knows its true shape). As for the Veela, it’s a Being, which accounts for its being left out of the book.

Reminder: the Ministry of Magic has a classification for Creatures. It goes from X (boring) to XXXXX (known wizard-killer and impossible to domesticate).

a. Kelpies

According to Newt Scamander, the Kelpie is a British and Irish water-demon, classified as XXXX by the Ministry of Magic. That means a skilled and trained wizard could deal with a Kelpie. It can change its shape to lure its preys into water, and the shape it takes the most often is that of a horse. It doesn’t take much to differentiate that horse from a regular Equus sp. because the mane of the horse-Kelpie is made of bulrushes. According to Muggle folklore, the hooves of the horse-kelpie are inverted compared to those of a regular Equus sp, and in Aberdeenshire, the mane is made of snakes. It is also said that if a Kelpie takes the shape of a human, then it’s betrayed by his hair being mixed with seaweed.

In his book, Scamander describes the festine that takes place at the bottom of the waters as quite gruesome because the entrails of the victim end up floating on the surface, or, according to legend, are thrown on the shore. Very nice. Sounds like the Kelpie’s Burp.

Still according to Scamander, you can render the horse-Kelpie tame by using and bridle jointly with a Placement Charm. However, it requires skill.

The world’s most famous Kelpie is the so-called-by-Muggles Loch Ness Monster. It was discovered to be a Kelpie when it was witnessed to turn into an otter to escape a crowd of Muggles. Every Scottish bit of water has a kelpie story attached to it. :)

Kelpies aren’t an invention of Rowling’s. They are part of the British lore. In Scotland, where the word originates from (first written records of the name back in the second half of the 17th century), Kelpies are apparently small, roundish, shape-shifting water fairies. They are said to usually appear as grey horses who lure their preys onto their backs, dive deep into the waters and devour their preys. Those creatures - or similar ones -  appear all over the British Isles, with various names according to the region they are in: Each-Uisge in Ireland, Cabbyl-Ushtey on the Isle of Man, Shoney in Cornwall, Ceffyl Dwr in Wales, Nuggies in the Shetlands and Tangies on the Orkneys. Moreover, similar creatures are observed in Scandinavia, for instance (the Swedish Backhäst), or even as far as Southern America and Australia.

The Scottish Kelpie was said to lure people by crying for help, which led people to deny rescue to people drowning or trapped on islands if they thought they were kelpies crying. That, of course, led to the actual people dying. Near Fife, Scotland, the Kelpie is said to make a dreadful roaring before a boat was lost at sea.

In Scotland, apparently, the most usual transformations of the Kelpie are into a horse or a handsome young lad (rarely a lass). Yet Nessie is a Sea-Serpent :P

Lord I just found out something in a book called ‘The Fabled Coast’ (references below, naturally): Newt Scamander wasn’t an old loony when telling about bits of guts floating after the Kelpie’s repast. Actually, a paragraph about Lochboisdale, Western Islands, Scotland, tells the reader that exact gory bit of the legend. Kelpie-researchers go so far as to make a difference between sea-water demons, which they call Water-Horses, and fresh-water demons, which they call Kelpies. This apparently was a huge debate involving famous writers like Sir Walter Scott in the 19th century. The dispute is still not closed today… In that paragraph about Lochboisdale, the author also says that most people don’t give a bit of toast about that and call all those creatures Kelpies. I’ll also summarize the tale told in that chapter about the Kelpie. The narrative frame is the usual one, but still…

In Lochboisdale lived a widowed man and his daughter. The man married again and the stepmother and stepdaughter moved in. As usual, the stepmother was a mean old hag who gave all the dirty work to her husband’s daughter and let hers flirt all day. One day that the girl was fishing at sea and catching nothing to save her life, the Kelpie appeared in front of her as a good-looking young man. He offered her help and they filled the boat with fish, because, he said, he knew about her misfortunes and had fallen in love with her. However, when the lass found out that her rescuer was a Water-Horse, she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore and he had to go back to his underwater realm. Some time later, an assembly was held in the village and the Water-horse told his fellow kelpies he was going to bring a mortal amongst them. So he went to the dance, richly attired, looking handsomer than ever. Seeing him, the stepdaughter was so besotted that she clung to him all night, to the great pleasure of the Water-horse. He then lured her to the beach, and before she was aware the stepdaughter was invited to yet another ball, of which she was the main guest. Nobody heard anything about her on the land anymore. Romantics believe it was a way for the Water-horse to help his beloved have a better life. Realists think he wanted food.

Other tales include children, who try and mount the Kelpie, but as soon as their hand touches the creature, it gets stuck. If the kid cuts off his fingers or hand he might escape. Otherwise, it’s death and guts on the water edge. In some tales the Kelpie actually chooses a mortal life and marries the belle he loved, after trials and all that such a tale requires, naturally. Yet in other accounts, the Kelpies are reckoned to have great strength and when tamed they are used to carry milestones and plough fields. When released, though, they sometime issue a curse and some families are believed to have died out following such a malediction.

In Wales there’s part of the tale Newt Scamander relates in his book, namely the bit about the taming of the Horse-kelpie. There are several tales about Ceffyl-Dwr (see picture above; source: https://imgur.com/gallery/r5NYu ) being caught and used as farm-horses, and inevitably at some point the bridle falls and the Ceffyl-Dwr returns to the sea, sometimes dragging plough and farmer behind him. The Ceffyl-Dwr was sometimes seen plunging up and down into the sea like a dolphin, which makes it more an elemental beast than a water-demon. That’s a difference between the Scottish Kelpie and the Welsh Ceffyl-Dwr, and goes against Scamander’s putting all those shape-shifting water-horse creatures under the same name.

Naturally, Christian religion has taken the Kelpie as a satanic creature, and according to them, carrying a Bible or using a cross to tame the Kelpie works, as well as shooting it with a silver bullet. (strange how the Christian ways to get rid of ‘demons’ is always the same :P )

b. Boggarts:  be good or the bogeyman will get you!

In the Harry Potter series, Boggarts first appear in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Professor Lupin introduces them in the first decent Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson Harry and his classmates have had in the two years they’ve been at Hogwarts. Lupin has stored a Boggart in the staffroom wardrobe and intends the students to practice on it to get the grip of the Boggart-Banishing-Spell Riddikulus.

If the spell is Riddikulus, which is a mere spelling twist on the English ridiculous, then it might mean ridicule has something to do with banishing a Boggart. Sure enough, the only way to get rid of a Boggart is making it turn into something so ludicrous you’ll laugh your head off and it’ll blast off. You could ask why you need to do such a thing, though. Well, the answer is easy: the Boggart is a shape-shifting non being that will turn into whatever frightens people the most when they face them. Of course, that means nobody but one that wouldn’t fear anything would know what a Boggart looks like when they hide in dark corners and other confined spaces. Naturally, the more people are tackling the Boggart at the same time, the easier it is to finish it off. If two or more people are in front of it, the Boggart will get confused because it won’t know what to turn into. Lupin says, in Prisoner of Azkaban, that he ‘once saw a Boggart make that very mistake - tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.’ (Chapter Seven)

According to Rowling in her writings for Pottermore, Boggarts’ presence can be felt by Muggles, yet they wouldn’t dare believe that there’s actually something there, and would merely believe it’s their imagination playing a trick on them.

Boggarts are non beings, like Poltergeists or Dementors. Not truly alive, yet not dead. They seem, like Dementors, to feed on human emotions. We don’t know how they breed, but apparently the fuel they use is fear (while remember, Dementors feed not only on fear, but also despair, sadness and all ‘negative’ emotions).

The particularity of Boggarts among shape-shifting creatures is that what they are going to turn into is unknown until it does so, and the variety of shapes it can assume is as wide as the pictures of fear in humankind.

I don’t think I’ve come across anything like a Harry-Potter-style-Boggart in any culture I’ve been reading about. However, since that could be the case, if you know anything of the sort, please comment below the article or on our fb page! I’d love to know more! Here’s what I found, though. Some traits are similar to Rowling’s boggarts, but not many.

Apparently, in Muggle Scotland, a Boggart is a male fairy who will create havoc in your house with great pleasure. Sounds like Peeves to me, but Peeves is a Poltergeist. It also loves frightening travellers (that’s one of the closest trait to a HP-Boggart). Across the British Isles, the Boggart goes by many names: Padfoot or Hobgoblin in Northern England (Hobgoblin is also a nice ale :P ), or even Boogey Man, and all the nicknames such a name can induce people to think of, naturally.

There are two kinds of boggarts, the household ones, and the outdoors ones, the latter living on bogs and marshes. While the household boggarts are more like Peeves, causing mischief and not living you in peace, the outdoor ones are accused of crimes of a more serious nature, like abducting children.

About household boggarts, if they are anyway like Peeves, I can very well imagine that people would want to get rid of them as soon as possible. However, that proves tricky, as this story shows: A man and his family were living in a house where a boggart had decided to establish his residence. It caused so much havoc that at some point the family decided to pack their things and move out. At the gate, the neighbour coming towards the family asked if they were leaving. From the suitcase came that happy cry: ‘Yes, we are!’. The man and his family turned back and went home. There’s no escaping a household boggart.

There are no specific kind of habitat for Boggarts. Of course bogs and marshes, but those are wetlands in general, that, since they are treacherous to wander on, are believed to be home to treacherous and maligne creatures. There are also reports of them living on dangerous slopes over roads, which could suggest that these are made up locations by muggles, because it’s just avoiding to say nature has her own ways and sometimes the stones and trees move on slopes and come down, causing accidents. Caves are also among the favourites, apparently, and that is closer to what Rowling says about Boggarts living in closed dark spaces. There’s a cave in Yorkshire, near Giggleswick, called Cave Ha, that is said to be haunted by a Boggart. Cave Ha, with its unusual name, is a huge shelter cave, and there has been human and animal bones found there, buried, but some also smashed to remove the marrow apparently, which might link the site to a ritual sacrificial place. There’s evidence of Cave Ha being used since the Neolithic period. The local legends around Giggleswick say that around that particular shelter cries and weird noises are often heard, and that a bogard roams around it. 

The pictures of boggarts we can find in literature or on the internet often resemble a sort of oldish dwarfish creature with crooked nose and fingers, not unlike the Goblins in the HP-films (see pic above; source:

https://lancashirefolk.com/2017/04/19/a-boggart-did-it-proved-in-court/ )

It looks like in folklore, Boggarts aren’t shape-shifters. The closest to shape-shifting I found is the fact that benevolent household creatures like brownies can turn into boggarts if ill-treated or offended. HA! No way. In Harland and Wilkinson, 1867, there’s a few paragraphs about Boggarts in Lancashire, which, as everyone knows, is a land of witchcraft. Here’s a summary of what they say:

Boggart is a name that might mean two things: bar-gheist, which is literally gate-ghost (bar means gate in the North, and ghast is Anglo-Saxon for spirit, anima), or buhr-gast, wich means town-sprite (buhr being the Anglo-Saxon for town, and gast for ghost). The spirits standing on gates or walls were known to frighten people - that’s consistent with the general fear-thing associated with boggarts. They also say that those boggarts can TAKE VARIOUS FORMS, or, as they put it, strange appearances.  So those particular boggarts would be shape-shifters. There’s even a list of creatures the boggart could turn into: ‘a rabbit, dog, bear, or still more fearful form’. Those were recorded east of Manchester. Of course, those boggarts were cleaned off by churchmen at first, and industrialisation next, and in the end, rationality took over and people said that ‘fact'ry folk havin' summat else t'mind nur wanderin' ghosts un' rollickin' sperrits’ and ‘There's no Boggarts neaw, un' iv ther' were, folk han grown so wacken, they'd soon catch 'em.’ That last bit of course makes me think that rationality hadn’t completely won over old ideas, and so much the better, in my opinion. Rationalism alone is not the solution :P

The more I read the book, the more similarities I find with Rowling’s Boggarts. So as seen just before, some boggarts can change shape. It is also widely believed that some enjoy frightening people. However, it was never mentioned to what extent they did that. Rowling of course makes her Boggarts impersonate the worst fear of the person who encounters the Boggart. Tradition makes it a tad different, as Harland and Wilkinson tell (this quote is straight from their book):

‘Having fallen into conversation with a working man on our road to Holme Chapel, we asked him if people in those parts were now ever annoyed by beings of another world. Affecting the esprit fort, he boldly answered, "Noa! the country's too full o' folk;" while his whole manner, and especially his countenance, as plainly said "Yes!" A boy who stood near was more honest. "O, yes!" he exclaimed, turning pale; "the Boggart has driven William Clarke out of his house; he flitted last Friday." "Why," I asked; "what did the Boggart do?" "O, he wouldn't let 'em sleep; he stripp'd off the clothes." "Was that all?" "I canna' say," answered the lad, in a tone which showed he was afraid to repeat all he had heard; "but they're gone, and the house is empty. You can go and see for yoursel', if you loike. Will's a plasterer, and the house is in Burnley Wood, on Brown Hills."’

However, even if there are some tales about shape-shifting boggarts and boggarts that would frighten people so much they’d leave the premises, the usual accounts are those of pesky pests, mostly household creatures who’d play pranks on the inhabitants. Sometimes being helpful, mostly being just nasty things.

Still, whatever the role of industrialisation and almighty priests in getting rid of boggarts, there are places that retain the history of their being in the names they bear. Those I found were mostly in Lancashire and Yorkshire, UK. For instance, Harland and Wilkinson mention a place north of Manchester, called Blackley, where there is a clough in which boggarts are said to live. Today it’s a park complete with stadium and pond, but records of people disappearing have given credit to the existence of a mean spirit in there, and for centuries the bottom of the clough has been called Boggarts Hole… so…

And just to end up on a funny note: I just read a paper while foraging for pictures and found this. In 1869 a boggart was accused by law of breaking windows in a building. The man who was the first suspect claimed his innocence and gave proof of it, ending his tirade with ‘it must have been a boggart’. The court, then had not choice but to convict the boggart and release the man.

c. Veela

Veela appear for the first time in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, during the Quidditch World Cup, as the mascots of the Bulgarian Team. The description in the book when we first encounter those beings is as follows: ‘Veela were women… the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen …  except that they weren’t - they couldn’t be - human. [...] he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind… [...] The Veela started to dance, and Harry’s mind had gone completely blissful and blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching the Veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen… As the Veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry’s dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea …  but would it be good enough?’ (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter Eight).

Harry is of course not the only one to be bewitched by Veela, and Ron is even more sensitive to their presence than Harry. He is so sensitive that he, like some other fellow Hogwartsians, is completely besotted when Fleur Delacour arrives for the Triwizard, and she’s only part-Veela, actually only 25%, since it’s from her grandma’s genes.

Veela in Harry Potter can change shape when infuriated, as they did at the Quidditch World Cup after the Irish Leprechauns had been rude to them: ‘They launched themselves across the pitch, and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn’t look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders.’ (Chapter Eight)

Veela hair is also considered to have magic enough to be used in wandlore. However, Ollivander wouldn’t use it, sticking to his three favourite, dragon heartstring, phoenix feather and unicorn tail hair. He thinks Veela hair makes temperamental wands (Chapter Eighteen), and honestly who would contradict him, given what happened at the World Cup :P  

Only female Veela are mentioned in the Harry Potter books. Apparently they also can breed with ordinary humans, since Fleur’s grandma was a Veela. There’s not much information in the HP books about details, nor is there any writing by Rowling about them. One thing can be said, though, and it’s the strange fact that Veela would submit to serve ordinary humans, in quality of pom pom girls. Honestly, after reading about them, I can’t imagine them doing that at all.

All right. I must admit I thought Veela were a creation of Rowling’s. Well, they aren’t. I always check my books and google everything just in case, and here I was surprised, and not for the worst. The only consequence is that if you’ve been reading that far you’ll be reading another couple of pages :p

Vila (or Wiła) are, according to what I read, the most important creatures of Slavic folklore and are present from the Baltic States to the Balkans as well as in Russia. Online there’s quite a lot about Serbian folklore, but not much else. That actually has an explanation, and thank you Kikimora for providing it :)

There's an important difference between the three groups of Slavic folklore, namely Balcanic on one side, Czech, Polish and Slovak on another, and Russian.

Balcanic Folklore

The Balcanic folklore was directly influenced by Ancient Greek traditions, and they base their documentation on Vila on a book by the famous Greek historian Procopius, who lived in the 6th century AD (I confess I didn’t read the book, so I trust the bloke who wrote the article).

In Serbian, the etymology of the world ‘vila’ would come from the word vel, which means ‘perish’. If you read what Vilas are, it’s a bit strange that the roots of the name would link the creature to death, while they actually are creatures that have the possibility of deciding the time of their own death and rebirth, and aren’t usually death omens. Rather the contrary. Maybe their fierce warrior reputation? However, it seems that many Slavic peoples have similar spirits of the death, or of unbaptized girls (that of course would be after Christianity had overtaken the world and decided that being unbaptized is some sort of death…) or girls condemned to float between life and death because of living a frivolous life or having been cursed by God because of their bad life (always the girls, right….).

According to Serbian folklore, Vila have been thought to be linked to storms and bad weather at first, and only later got linked with forest, water and mountain habitats. They are the equivalent of the Ancient Greek nymphs, can live in various environments and are shape-shifters, yet their usual form is that of a beautiful maiden. Those women can be either naked or dressed in white, but usually have long silvery hair. While unprovoked, Vila are benevolent and helpful, but turn into murderous creatures if molested or offended. It is also said that if seen bathing, or dancing, Vila would hunt the offending men down and shoot them with bow and arrow, sometimes to death, sometimes not. When not, the offender would lose a limb, for instance. That reminds me a bit of other parts of Greek mythology where offenders lost their sight for watching a goddess bathing. However, unlike Athena, Vila would sometimes lure men into dancing or watching them. That could turn into something good or bad for the men. This bit is sort of consistent with the bewitching power of Rowling’s Veela. Vila get their power from their hair, like many other heroes, and from another thing I can’t write the name of (only heard it and don’t want to misspell it), but it’s an element of dressing going down the back from the hair to the wings (when they have wings). If a man stole that bit of clothing while a Vila was bathing, he stole her powers and thus became her master. In other tales this happens if the man plucks a feather of the Vila’s wings. If a Vila’s hair was plucked, though, the Vila would die. So I must imagine that the hair from Fleur’s grandma, that ended up in Fleur’s wand, was collected on a brush or comb :P

Vilas are mostly female. Some claim there’s no male Vila, some that there’s a few, who became such because they came into contact with Vilas. In Serbian folklore, they would be called Vilenyak. Vila could also ‘adopt’ children and it is said a child breast-fed by a Vila would gain unusual strength from it. That happened for instance to the Serbian folklore hero Prince Marko.

Vila have a big responsibility in communities: formerly they would teach people how to sew, plough, irrigate their fields all kind of skills. Vilas are also believed to be learnt in healing with plants and divination or rather prophetisation, and are often mentioned as healers of the hero’s wounds in folk tales. In some tales, Vila go as far as to marry mortal men, putting the usual set of conditions (like not mentioning their decent) lest they would disappear forever. Apparently Fleur’s grandma didn’t come to that extremity with her husband.

North-Eastern European Wiłas 

(spelling adopted here: Polish, because I discussed the subject with Polish friends. The spelling differs a bit from one language to the next, but not the names).

We know much less of Vilas in the northern part of Eastern Europe. That's due to many things, amongst which the non-writing of legends is one part, and the fact that most of European Slavic peoples' history has been written by others than the actual peoples. Usually dominating countries or foreign explorers. Archaeologists and anthropology field scientists agree that they can't be sure about anything when it comes to Slavic traditions before Christianisation, and what happened after is of course strongly tainted by ideology.

Slavic peoples from the North-East part of Europe think of Vilas not as nymphs, but more as demons. The word Vila, Wiła in Polish, is not that much used in northern countries, apparently, where those beings are also called Rusałki.

In North-Eastern folklore, it is said that wiłas can shape-shift, namely turn into animals and winds. They are also fierce warriors, like their southern cousins, having that bare and raw natural force (we Finns would call it sisu I'd say) that can help you fulfil your dreams and carry on whatever the circumstances but that can turn against you should you be careless. As Kikimora puts it, it's something along the lines of 'watch out what you wish for, respect what you don't understand, you can't rule everywhere' (Kikimora, pers. comm.).

Unlike the southern folklore, northern Slavic tradition doesn't have male rusałki or wiła. In Slavic folklore, there are some traits or strengths (and weaknesses) that are more male or more female; Wiła and rusałki are female. The male counterpart to rusałki would be wodniki.

Like their southern counterparts, Wiła were demonised (in the clerical sense) once their countries were taken over by Christians, in whose beliefs anything female is dangerous and satanic and bad (remember Satan is a bloke - tries to find coherence - there's none). Before that, there were male and female demons, ghosts, energies... and there was a sort of balance.

So even if we consider both sides of Slavic folklore, we can see similarities between the traditional Vilas and Rusálki/Wiła. There's that shape-shifting, the luring people (both men and women, even if the latter very rarely, according to the internet), the demonish side, and the being careful with what you wish. Remember the things the boys at Hogwarts or at the World Cup did to try and get the Veela's attention...

Arts

Vila have been used by composers in operas, like Hungarian Ferenc Lehár in his Lustige Witwe (1905) and Antonin Dvořák in his Rusálka (1901), and Westerners as well, notably by poet Heinrich Heine and composers Giaccomo Puccini in Le Villi (1884) and Adolphe Adam (Ballet Giselle orLes Wilis, 1841).

4. Summary Comparison

Time to draw a small comparison. Rowling’s shape-shifting creatures are all loosely based on folklore. Whether she knew it or not, nobody can tell but her. However, the coincidences are too strong to leave much doubt.

Shape-shifting is a fairly common thing in the wizarding world, as in folklore.

Kelpies are designed straight from the Scottish folklore version, no doubt about that, even if Scamander doesn’t develop the subject much in his works. They aren’t mentioned often in the Harry Potter books either.

Boggarts are loosely based on Lancashire and Yorkshire versions of the creatures, retaining only the fact that they like frightening people and can shape-shift for that purpose. Rowling takes that further, though, making the creatures Dark and rather close to Dementors in the way they use fear. However, as Boggarts in folklore play tricks on humans, humans in Harry Potter play tricks on Boggarts to get rid of them. The way Mrs Weasley sees the Boggart at 12 Grimmauld Place turn into many different dead people in turn is rather exceptional. I didn’t find anything similar in literature, but again, I didn’t read everything available, I suppose.

To write about Veela Rowling must have known about the Serbian Vila. There are too many similarities (the luring, the dancing, the beauty, the magical hair, the turning into harpie-like creatures) to leave much doubt, but there’s a lot of discrepancies as well, and since there’s no writing by Rowling about Veela anywhere, it’s hard to know to which extent she wanted her Veela to resemble Vila. It’s sure she knew they were from Slavic folklore though, since she attributed them to the Bulgarian Quidditch team as mascots. Now I don’t think Vila would have agreed to be used that way, particularly given the fact they punish people for watching them dance.

Fleur’s grandmother was one of the Veela who married a mortal man, but we know nothing more about that. One thing we can infer from the fact that one of her hair is used as a wand core, is that the magical power of the hair was known by Rowling, and that unless Veela gather their fallen hair it must be horribly difficult for wandmakers to come across that particular core.

Now you could ask me why I don’t mention Obscuri here. As you know, they are creatures generated by a form of transfiguration that is intrinsic to a wizard whose magic has been hindered through his own will or others’. The people who create Obscuri are usually children (they hardly ever live over the age of ten, and in 1926 there was no documented fact that any had lived over that age), according to Newt Scamander in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the screenplay. In the film, Credence Barebone is an Obscurial, whose magical energy has been repressed for over twenty years and who unleashes a devastating monster when his emotions are triggered. It looks, in the film, that he has gained some mastery over the phenomenon over time, but there’s not much documentation about that. I didn’t include Obscurials in this paper because as far as I know, there’s no counterpart in the Muggle world and I like comparisons.

Next bit: Animagi :) Thank you for reading and commenting if you do!

Sources

Rowling, Joanne K., Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Bloomsbury, London, 1998

Rowling, Joanne K., Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Bloomsbury, London, 1999

Rowling, Joanne K., Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Bloomsbury, London, 2000

Rowling, Joanne K., The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Bloomsbury, London, 2007

Rowling, Joanne K., Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them - The Original Screenplay. Bloomsbury, London, 2016.

Scamander Newt, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Obscurus Books, Diagon Alley, London, 2001

Wisp, Kennilworthy.  Quidditch Through the Ages, Bloomsbury, London, and WhizzHard Books, Diagon Alley, London. 2001.

Kelpies

Kelpies: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelpie

Necks (water-spirits): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neck_(water_spirit)

Boggarts

http://caveburial.ubss.org.uk/northyorks/caveha.htm

http://oldfieldslimestone.blogspot.ch/2013/03/prehistoric-three-peaks-part-two-cave.html

http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/87393/7/bcra_cks124042.pdf (scientific paper about how the caves formed and what is left now)

http://www.haunted-yorkshire.co.uk/giggleswicksightings.htm (pretty bs paper, most of the text not written by one person and mostly copy-pasted from wikipedia, but has some local stories)

https://www.pottermore.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/boggart  

http://manchesterhistory.net/manchester/squares/boggart.html

https://lancashirefolk.com/2017/04/19/a-boggart-did-it-proved-in-court/

Vila and Wiła

Serbian video about Vila in Slavic culture: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrtiiOH4yc

http://folklorethursday.com/regional-folklore/serbian-folklore-his-majesty-the-zmaj-and-her-majesty-the-vila/#sthash.kgkk4MzK.dpbs

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Supernatural_beings_in_Slavic_religion#Vila

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Villi (opera by Puccini)

Knowledge base called Kikimora.

General Literature

Johnson, Paul. The Little People of The British Isles, Wooden Books, Glastonbury, 2008. 58 pp.

Kingshill, Sophia; Westwood, Jennifer. The Fabled Coast - Legends and Traditions from around the shores of Britain and Ireland. Arrow Books, 2014. 510 pp.

Kronzek, Allan Zola and Elizabeth, The Sorcerer’s Companion - A Guide to the Magical World of Harry Potter, Broadway Books, New York, 2001, 286 pp.

Harland, John., Wilkinson, Thomas T., Lancashire Folklore, Frederick Warne & Co., London, 1867 pp 50-62: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41148/41148-h/41148-h.htm  (this book is a real treasure).

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Mycroft Submission form

Name:

Raija

Age (note that if you are under the age of consent your score will be significantly lower for Marriage, Friendship and Partnership):

32

Gender:

Female

Occupation:

I work as a librarian, but I have a degree in human resources.

Nationality:

Finnish

Country of origin:

Finland

Personality type (Myers-Briggs Type Indicator):

ISFJ (did the test online and it seems legit)

Education:

Human resources at college

Marital Status (if not applicable put N/A):

single

Number of children (if not applicable put N/A):

none, I have a cat and that’s more than enough

Who would you shoot out of John, Sherlock, Mycroft and why:

John, he pisses me off too often. I would prank Sherlock if he got on my nerves.

Height:

168.5 cm

Position in the family (oldest, youngest, middle):

That kind of depends which way one is looking at it. I am mum’s youngest, dad’s oldest and all in all I have a big brother and two little sisters. So a middle one, with a twist.

Best subject:

History

Favorite Subject:

History and English

Worst subject:

Maths and Swedish

Last song listened to:

Alice Cooper’s Paranormal

Favorite color:

deep green

Thoughts on Molly and Sherlock’s impending relationship:

I wish they got a move on.

Illness/allergies/impairments:

Overweight with a bad back and knees and mushrooms give me a stomach ache

Last sentence uttered to another living human being:

I love you. (To mum)

Hair color/length:

A bit under shoulders and dyed dark brown

Who do you feel more sympathy for Sgt. Donovan or Anderson’s wife:

The wife

Eye color:

brownish green

Constantly cold, hot or prefect:

Too damn hot (to handle)

Seven Noteworthy skills (ex: can play an instrument, fire most guns, ride a unicycle, etc.):

-       I can smile innocently while wanting desperately to shoot someone (thanks  to customer service experience)

-       I can quote most of the elvish in the Fellowship of the Ring

-       I have a lot of dirt on people and have kept their secrects for years

-       I am excellent at falling down on flat surfaces

-       I can usually find the information the customer needs given a bit of time

-       One can trust my word

-       I know how to make bread (it’s a new skill)

Nine noticeable sins: (ex: moody, bad listener, selfish, etc.):

-       I am a bitch when I am hungry

-       I get roadrage

-       I get offended easily when I feel I am wrongly accused and I can’t let it go either

-       I am lazy

I am foul mouthed

-       I like to shop, a lot

-       I am messy

-       I like the 6th Doctor

-       I always mean what I say, I just don’t always mean to say them out loud

Languages known/spoken:

Finnish of course, English, some Swedish, some German, some Russian, some Spanish and I have studied Latin as well. I am fluent in only Finnish and English,

Cats, dogs, both or other:

I own a cat, but I like them both

How often you help your community (1 never, 2 sometimes when prompted, 3 average, 4 often, 5 weekly):

Depends what do you mean by helping, I don’t volunteer for example, but I donate a lot good stuff (unused clothes for example) to local flea market that is run by the unemployed peole and aimed for them as well.

Favorite Holmes family member:

Mycroft Holmes

Body type (1 obese, 2 overweight, 3 averages, 4 fit, 5 skinny):

1

Number of past lovers (put N/A if virgin or not seeking marriage):

N/A

Level of cleanliness (5 slobs, 4 messy, 3 average, 2 pretty clean and 1 spotless):

4

Would you rather piss off Sherlock or Mycroft:

Sherlock

Rate your mental health on a scale of 1-5 with one being terrible and 5 being fine:

3, been better and been worse. I am alright.

Rate your confidence on a scale of 1-5 with 1 being poor and 5 being Sherlock levels:

3, on a good day 4

Combat level (1 sitting duck, 2 somewhat okay, 3 can hold their own, 4 pretty damn good, 5 a proficient fighter):

1

Circle of friends:

3 close ones, 2 pretty close ones and a lot people that I like, but aren’t exactly close friends.

Who do you side with more Sherlock or Mycroft:

Mycroft, I know how it feels to be the responsible one (and we are not taking mummy’s opinion on this one)

Level of intelligence on a scale of 1-5:

3, I am average and I know it. Why pretend?

Who do you side with more Mycroft or Mrs. Hudson:

Mycroft most of the time

Introvert or Extrovert:

Ambivert, which is a bit of both and yes it is actually a used term. I didn’t get it out of thin air.

Political alignment:

Labour

Who would your rather be trapped in a long car ride with Mummy Holmes or Holmes Senior: 

Holmes senior

Go to outfit for everyday:

black jeans, nice t-shirt, biker jacket and high heeled boots, all black

Go to outfit to impress:

One of my little black dresses and blood red heels

5 hobbies (not to be confused with noteworthy skills):

-       books                      - whiskey

-       sudoku

-       walking

-       movies

Opinion of Rosie Watson and Mary Watson:

Rosie is an innocent child and Mary… I quite liked her.

Favorite music/book/movies:

I have lately listened a lot of punk, but I prefer the dark tones of gothic music. I can’t name one band because I like so many. Lord of the rings is my all time favourite book. There are a lot of movies that I greatly enjoy, but I like the old horror movies quite a bit.

How well you take rejection on a scale from 1-5:

I am not good at it, so 2 because I try to have a bit of dignity. But I will avoid the person for a long while.

Religious or religious affliations:

I am an atheist

Kids or no (note this is wanting them not the ability to have them):

No, but if one comes even after all the things I’ve done to prevent it, then they will be welcome.

Out of the Holmes family (Siger, Violet, Sherlock and Eurus) who would you kill, maim, kiss or roommate with and why:

I would kill Eurus, I have no emotional attachment to her and she would happily kill me. I would maim Violet because I am still too angry at her I would kiss Sherlock because why the fuck not? And I would roommate with Siger, because he is the least annoying

Do you think what Mycroft did with Eurus (at the time) was justified and needed:

I just don’t know. But I do believe he did his best with what he had to work with.

Please bold the following that you wish to have with Mr. Holmes:

Friendship

Partnership

Marriage

Mentorship

My three questions

Parents buy cookies for their kids. They are saving money so they buy two discounted ones (few days after best before). They don’t want to look greedy so they also buy two cookies for the full price. When they come home their two kids grab cookies, and each get two. They don’t check best before so their choice is random. Do you think that life is fair and each kid gets one expired and one good cookie? Or one kid gets both expired? What is more likely to happen?

- Life isn’t fair, but a chance is a chance and nothing is impossible in this world. Just highly improbable. So I really don’t know what kind of cookies each child got, but in the end, does it really matter? Each got two cookies and I think the children wouldn’t give a damn if the parents kept their trap shut. The children were happy to have cookies, just leave it at that.

Prison guards are bored so during dinner they announce the prisoners that they will play a game: In the morning they will stand in a line so that every prisoner will see all standing in front of him but no one behind him. Guards will randomly paint red or white stripe on their back. They will ask prisoners one by one from the last to the first. They will be allowed to say just one word “red” or “white”. If the prisoner says the color he has on his back he may go home in opposite case he will be executed without delay. The prisoners are in one cell during the night and they can discuss the tactics. Which is the best? How many will survive?

- There is an explanation to this I am sure, but since I am rebel (and a bit of idiot with these kind of questions) I am going to think outside the box and say they will all survive because the guards will have a mutiny in their hands and the prisoners refuse to play. It’s better to serve the sentence than leave their life in the hands of shithead guards. I mean the guards could watch football and read a book if they are bored. Fucking wankers.

Once upon a time there was a kingdom. A king and a clown lived in this kingdom. Unfortunately they hated each other so they agreed that they will poison each other one day. There are only twelve vials of poison in whole kingdom and they are locked in one chamber in the castle. The poisons have numbers from 1 to 12. The higher the number the stronger the poison. Effect on human body is simple – you drink the poison, you die. Each stronger poison neutralizes all weaker poisons which means that poison 12 neutralizes all poisons, number 11 all poisons but 12 etc. (If you drink 11 and than 12 nothing happens. If you drink 12 and than 11 you die.) The king enters the chamber with poisons first and takes all the even poisons (2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12). Than the clown enters and takes the rest. They meet in the throne hall where each fills one cup and hands it over to the other who immediately drinks it. Now each fills the cup once again, now for himself, and drinks it (hoping to save his own life). What did the clown do that he woke up the second morning and the king was dead? Premises: Each of them (the king and the clown) PRIMARILY wants to survive. If he survives he wants to poison the other as surely as possible. There is one dose of each poison – it’s not possible to divide it. The poisons are fluids without color or smell and they have the same consistency as water

- Absolutely no idea.

Questions 1/3

Friendship: 7.38/10

Mycroft’s answer:

Well Raija, it is always good to acquire new contacts but as a newly formed acquaintance might I suggest hiring a driver or cab to help alleviate road rage? I must confess that like my brother I too had a bad habit with such (which is why he’s not allowed to drive considering he’s mister ‘we can afford a new car every month for the rest of my life anyway so what’s the big deal Mycroft’) ; the urge to run smash my car into the offending party was almost unbearable as it was unthinkable but even I can admit that I’m not always the better man when it comes to patience and virtue.

 Although I am a bit surprised John peeve you so greatly (there are times when the man annoys me just because he won’t follow my lead as opposed to Sherlock’s) but am quite on the same point with you when it concerns Miss Hooper and Sherlock’s relationship. For years since the pair have interacted I had hoped MIss Hooper would either buck up to make a move or at the very least Sherlock would come to his senses and throw her a bone. Who would of thought Eurus would be the one to force Sherlock to face those feelings that he’s long since ignored or for Molly to be as brave as to confess them (even if all of us Mrs Hudson included already knew) aloud. it was something that I had not initially planned for but despite the circumstances and deaths along the way I cannot say that I am not somewhat pleased by their development from all of it. Now if I can only get them to marry within my lifetime that would certainly help me die peacefully knowing that the Holmes line will live on.

I must confess Sudoku is a guilty pleasure of mine simply because I enjoy  solving the puzzles (even if it usually is simple mathematics) at my leisure between flights. I have yet to find an app on my cellular device that gives me the same quality of puzzles without crashing but rest assured when it is made you’ll be the first to know. I find that Sudoku in other languages to be a bit more difficult to do as translations are not always 100% correct but enjoy them no the less. Now doing the crosswords for the Beijing paper-now that is something that only a mad woman like Eurus would do for the fun of it.

Languages may be a forte of mine (as it is with the rest of the Holmes clan) but recalling all the characters in the Chinese language which are often borrowed by other Asian countries makes for a migraine inducing sit when you know more than one language. As someone that knows more than one and is attempting to add more to your repertoire I’m sure you of all people Raija will understand.

I will send you a text at your convenience and I look forward to our blossoming friendship. 

-M

[augustuserik-blog]

task 001.

—— ❝ let’s start off easy. tell me the basics. ❞

[ name ] augustus erik gustavsson

[ date of birth ] october 1, 1640

[ place of birth ] stockholm, sweden

[ age ] twenty-four

[ religion ] protestant

[ marital status ] unbetrothed, unmarried

[ occupation / title ] king of sweden

[ gender identity ] male

[ allegiance ] for the best interests of england.

[ spoken language(s) ] swedish, english, danish, german (fluent), russian (proficient)

[ special skill(s) ] swordsmanship, equestrian, archery

—— ❝ what of your family ?? are they still alive ?? ❞

[ father ] king erik gustavsson [deceased c. 1662]

[ mother ] the queen mother christina gustavsson  [alive]

[ sibling(s) ] none

[ children ] none

—— ❝  now let’s paint a picture of you. ❞

[ height/weight ] 5′8, 145 lbs

[ built ] athletic

[ hair color ] brown

[ eye color ] brown

[ accent ] depends on language. when speaking english, slight scandanavian accent. high-class accent in swedish, danish, german. 

[ voice ] smooth, kind.

[ style of speech ] often depends upon whom she’s speaking to. usually articulate and eloquent with royal peers, but with friends and family, resigns to more casual style of speech.

[ scars ] many miscellaneous scars from the war. scar on eyebrow from sword scratch. scar on side, also from sword wound. scar from an arrow on his calf. 

[ abnormalities ] none.

[ clothing ] dresses in comfortable but fine clothing-- usually whatever chamber servants lay out. before, often just tunic. 

—— ❝ tell us, what kind of person are you ?? ❞

[ star sign ] libra.

[ alignment ] lawful good.

[ enneagram type ] type 2, the helper.

[ color personality ] you are pale turquoise.

{#AFEEEE} your dominant hues are green and blue. you're smart and you know it, and want to use your power to help people and relate to others. even though you tend to battle with yourself, you solve other people's conflicts well. your saturation level is low - you stay out of stressful situations and advise others to do the same. you may not be the go-to person when something really needs done, but you know never to blow things out of proportion. your outlook on life is bright. you see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.

[ what plant(s) best represent you ]

echinacea. a protector. with an amazing blend of optimism, nurturing and goodwill, you lend your strength and energy to those in need. your seemingly infinite goodwill and boundless supportive energy make you the one people turn to when times are tough. your greatest strength is, of course, also one of your weaknesses, especially if you neglect to take care of yourself. at times like these, it’s a good idea to take a step back and focus some of that protective energy on yourself.

ginger. spirited. a feisty and fiery companion, quick with an opinion, a laugh or an idea. warm, friendly and inviting, you never allow an awkward moment to pass. in fact, even cold and distant people warm up to you more quickly than others. negative experiences or too much indulgence, however, can send you into a bit of a tailspin, and when hurt you may become quite cold and distant. ginger people do best when their natural warmth and affection is flowing freely, giving them easy access to their love of life.

passionflower. deeply concerned about others and the world around you, you have a developed sense of what’s right and just. you’re a bit of an idealist and strive to see your vision of perfection realized in the world. on occasion you get out of balance, and you may feel a deep sense of unease and be prone to worry—especially at night, tossing and turning over all that is wrong or that needs fixing.

[ theme/character song ] coming soon.

—— ❝ do you have anything more you wish to say ?? ❞

this will be added to as i develop her

[comfsy]

OPINION: THE NEW ESSENCE OF TRAVEL

  As the owner of Petite Passport, all things that make me happy have to do with traveling. From deciding where to go to the moment you open the door of the hotel you wanted to visit so badly. From the enthusiasm of the people behind the spots to the messages I receive from readers telling me they had such a good time in Barcelona, Berlin or Copenhagen. Ever since Petite Passport was launched, and even way before, my whole life has been dominated by travel. Until COVID-19 came along.

  People ask: ‘Isn’t it extra difficult for you now you have to stay at home?’ But I don’t experience it that way. It gives me peace, clarity and time to not only look back at the last ten years, but also to look ahead. What will travel, and especially the places we love to visit, be like after corona? I’m not a futurist, but as I’ve had many conversations with inspiring entrepreneurs and traveled to many future-proof places these last couple of years, I like to share my insights with you.

  Airline travel

2019 was the year when the term ‘flight shame’ became a thing on every traveler’s mind. Young Swedish activist Greta Thunberg told her story at the UN Climate Action Summit in New York and decided not to fly there, but to take the boat. Her speech made people from all over the world think twice about going to Bali for a weekend. And many of them started looking for destinations accessible by train or car. Now the COVID-19 virus has completely shut down airline travel and we are learning to live in a society where social distancing is the new normal. Will you then gladly drop yourself in the middle seat of Economy Class this summer?

  Train, car or bicycle

Air traffic will certainly be up and running again, but not in an instant and on a more exclusive scale. Imagine more space or even plastic screens in between seats, more health checks and more interest in business class or private jets – which of course means more expensive tickets. Travelers are therefore challenged to come up with alternatives. Why not make a long journey every five years, and take more time for it? In the coming months travelers will look for places they can visit by train, car of even bicycle. The borders are closed and when they open again you like to stay closer to home. A good development as it brings us back to the essence of what travel really is. And before I explain more, I would like to ask you what travel means for you. What’s the reason you pack your bags and like to explore another country?

    Slow down

When I asked myself this question, I thought back of my recent trips and a feeling of urgency came up. As if we only have a year to live and we need to visit every place on earth and take pictures of it (just google ‘Mona Lisa crowded’ for the extreme version). And because there are so many beautiful addresses in Milan we just have to get going. While this is obviously not the essence of travel at all. The best journeys slow you down. They let you notice things you normally won’t see. They let you taste something you will still remember years later. And they inspire you by a spontaneous conversation with a local or a visit to a museum.

  Your own backyard

Now is the time to revalue your own backyard. In order to sharpen all our senses for the moment we’re allowed to get back on the road, I invite you to explore your neighborhood with the eyes of a tourist. For example, the Amsterdam canals can feel normal to you as you cycle there every day, while someone from a modern city like Singapore is in awe of all that history. Ask a neighbor what his favorite hidden gem is. Support small business owners. And take the road less travelled, better said: the street you’ve never entered before, to learn more about your city.

  Discover your country

Apart from discovering your own city, this time also invites you to think about a holiday in your own country. No jetlag, hardly any CO2-emission and a lot more affordable. The purpose of vacation is to rest and that has nothing to do with distance (however it has to do with a distance of your ever-growing to do list, so don’t take it with you ;)). Personally, I have a lot of fond memories of my stay at Atelier Gaasterland in a nature reserve in Friesland (The Netherlands) where you will see deer in the morning. Or of Le Barn in France where you’ll stay in a stylish hotel, but you can see the surrounding forest on a horse. Or of Cabanas no Rio, two architecturally transformed fishermen’s huts with a panoramic view on an hour’s drive from Lisbon.

    Hospitality

Will this then be the end of city trips? Of course not. I do think hospitality will change. It will be smaller, more personal and the community aspect will play a more important role. Chefs who had to close down the doors of their restaurants now deliver their recipes and ingredients to your home, they just don’t cook it for you. In the future I will see more small-scale restaurants such as 212 in Amsterdam, Wolfgat in Paternoster and Maos in London where it feels like you’re in the kitchen of the chef. On a different scale it happens at places like Rooftop Smokehouse in Barcelona or Ostergro in Copenhagen. Think of the idea of a living room where the chef does what he loves the most: cooking for people who are in the mood for a night out.

  The influence of the farm

The farm brings us back to the place where it all starts before their produce finds a way to our plates. It’s not a coincidence that farm stays, such as Ross Farm, The Newt and Deplar Farm are now so popular. We want to experience nature to see and taste what our hinterland has to offer. That brings us to restaurants in the city that only use ingredients their country has to offer, such as Wilder in Shoreditch. That earthy aspect also makes a way to restaurant interiors: you’ll see lots of wood, earthy colors such as terracotta, sturdy furniture and above all, not too much fuss.

    New perspective on a night’s out

Hospitality concepts can also transform themselves completely. Carousel has been successfully doing this for years in London now. They have a restaurant space that never changes, but the chefs change every few weeks. This means their guests won’t have to fly around the world to see Niklas Ekstedt at work in Stockholm, the so-called vegetable whisperer Toshio Tanahashi in Kyoto or Javier Rodriguez from El Papagayo in Argentina. At Carousel you share a communal table with a select group of people who, like you, want to experience the culinary sensations of the chef of that evening.

    Community

This bringing together of a select group of like-minded people to form a community will grow even more. Before Corona we all lived very individualistic lives and the tide seems to be turning now. We need each other: after all, we’re stronger together. What Soho House does with their rock-solid event program may, in my eyes, travel all over the world. Every city will have a place where a community of people with the same (design) interests come together and you’ll organize a stargazing evening or a bookbinding workshop and you’ll automatically make new friends. No phones, but real conversations. Soho House, Ace Hotel, The Hoxton, The Audo: the ‘design churches’ of post-corona.

  More than a hotel

Hotels are no longer places where you only stay the night. They have restaurants, a coffee-to-go corner, an exhibition space and while you’re there you can also learn something via a workshop or get some work done. Hotel V in Amsterdam no longer received any bookings for their rooms and now invites local people to work there silently. Birch, just slightly North of London, is also a hotel and co-working space but also organizes ceramic workshops, beekeeping lessons or sourdough making mornings and they have a vegetable garden that supplies the restaurants with fresh ingredients.

  Micro hotels

Small-scale hotels can also make a difference: because it’s so personal, you’ll be pampered even more, and the chance of getting a scary virus is much smaller than sharing the breakfast room with dozens of people. Look at places like My Home in Porto, with only three rooms, but with a host who takes away all your worries and also makes you a delicious breakfast. Also interesting: stay the night with a designer such as Stephen Kenn in Los Angeles – who now also makes masks in the same army fabric as his popular sofas.

    Wellness

Now that we have to stay indoors and our expansion drive is tempered, we will notice our internal dialogue more. That makes us worry at times, but it also brings us room for new ideas, to clear up all the cupboards, to try out new recipes and to walk ourselves healthy. I’m convinced both mental as physical health will play a major role in our future holidays. The first yoga hotel in a metropolis such as Paris has recently opened the doors. Bathhouse in Williamsburg has the function of an old-fashioned bathhouse, but with a super stylish design. Remedy Place in Los Angeles is not a gym, but invites members to take an ice bath, follow a guided meditation, and try out a hyperbaric oxygen chamber to work preventively on a healthy mind and body. More and more young people are walking the Camino. And who doesn’t dream of a yoga retreat at Mandali at 850 meters above civilization where the air you breathe gives you an instant boost?

  Shopping

If we turn down the volume of our busy lives, shopping doesn’t really seem that important anymore. Retail stores have been under attack for some time now and you don’t have to travel to see the popular shopping streets anymore as they look the same all over the world. Graanmarkt 13 in Antwerp questions the rhythm of the fashion seasons. How often do you really have to buy something new? Isn’t it better to buy a sweater that might be a little more expensive, but you can wear it for the rest of your life? Instead of a sale, they invite their customers to return their old clothes and resell the items to someone else who might enjoy it for another seven years.

  1-on-1 service

Personal service will become even more important in a new retail landscape. The owner of your favorite store knows you will fall in love with that leather jacket she just received and gives you a call. You can also take it a step further: is a brick-and-mortar shop still necessary? Now that we have subscriptions for our favorite movies and music already, why not with a retailer you love? I would love to deliver my guides personally, give some extra recommendations and check in with you afterwards to hear your stories. And if we have ‘design churches’ in every city: wouldn’t it be an idea to invite a young designer/artist every Wednesday afternoon? We get to know him, learn the story behind his work which will give a lot of extra value to your purchase.

  Petite Passport

And what does all of this mean for a platform like Petite Passport? I think we can incorporate all the concepts mentioned above in my site, books, magazine and socials. Staying close to home, going back to the essence of travel, slowing down. Don’t recommend 1000 places, but only the absolute best so you have time to really feel the city in your own unique way. Don’t post on Instagram every day, only if you have something to say. Take time to create and dive deep into learning something new. And make it even more personal: instead of creating for those intangible number of 100k+ followers, I prefer to see the faces of the people I share my recommendations with. I hope to make our community even stronger. Perhaps by delivering those guides personally, perhaps by organizing workshops or events. Who knows: maybe even by doing a city trip together. Or the biggest dream: creating the House of Petite Passport, with a b&b, workshop space, bookstore and a dog – designed by a fantastic architect.

  Essence

I may have a somewhat idealistic view of the future of travel and hospitality. Maybe the planes will be packed again next month as Ryanair presents an offer we can’t refuse. But let’s go inside ourselves again and again and remember why travelling is so important to you. For me it’s to be there completely, without my head wondering off somewhere else. To enjoy, slow down and appreciate.

  Take care! Pauline

  Love to hear your thoughts, share them in the comments section below

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OPINION: THE NEW ESSENCE OF TRAVEL published first on https://takebreaktravel.tumblr.com/

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his breast the sweets of sin, by slops, before them hold that fellow with the smell before, Simois, I advise you.

I'll venture so much as to say: or goddess. Love is your firm promise.

Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Often thought she was doing the other for beauteous modesty. Exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the pane in a barber's shop. Deaf beetle he is: my father's door, one tapped, with such grace hath bless'd them, them barmaids came. Make her hear. But be thou arm'd for some fresh water and a man. Some one be ready with a whopper now.

Power and cider. No, change that ee. Of my mistress. Who fears to speak with you, father. Thou counterfeit to thy cold bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, a high note pealed in the moonlight by the churchyard he had come. Thou, Julia, that thou shalt spend some time with Valentinus in the effulgence symbolistic, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high, of the street? Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante. Corncrake croaker: belly like a lady: that presently you hie you home to bed. You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin.

Stave it off awhile. Card inside. Well, I am old. Old. Paying the piper. Come, you rogue! Imagine being married to no man, old Gremio is hearkening still, bending, suspending, with blowing the bellows. Ay, my good lord. Here if thou doubt it not: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. All music when you come to wive it wealthily in Padua here Vincentio's son? Wiped his nose in curtain too.

In here. Pwee little wee little wind piped eeee. Six bob. Hark! What a block art thou the worse for me. Miss Kennedy protested.

—Ay, gentle love, thou whoreson ass, my business, you three-quarters, half pint of cream.

Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I was, good people. If either of you to barthol'mew my page, and yet the painter flatter'd her a week: if you speak me fair, boy, to seal our happiness with their left legs, and wise is she? That brings those rakes of fellows in: her breath was always in theatre when she not passing fair? —I knew a wench, how Silver made it good at the gate? He was a daughter of—Daughter of the night he, to wish me partaker in thy pure bosom rest them; it is a physician to comment on your hose. Hee hee hee. Old. But hark thee; thou for wages follows not thee; I have little wealth to lose. He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor. Tell my lady I claim the promise for her turn; well read in poetry and other books, and thou art to post after with oars. Her silence flouts me, near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where we were in the till and hummed and handed coins in change. The chords harped slower. Characteristic of him, Tranio!

—Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly.

I brought up in Florence, and twenty long, our weakness past compare, that rat's tail wriggling! Why, sir, do you?

Jerked Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her wedding-day. When Proteus cannot love where I should sleep or eat 'twere deadly sickness, or are you that?

Erin. Hark, Petruchio is the cap, and I never signed it. Ah fox met ah stork. He had. Will you let it lie for those women.

—for that's writ down she is become a notable lover?

—Tiptop. Go on, good to hear. I too was just.

Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom.

She poured in a disguise of love is by now. And flushed yet more you horrid! Soft word. Will you give thanks, sweet tea. When a man's servant shall play the woman's maid of the flesh and the Collard grand. You are passing welcome, sir, so beyond all measure, that thou speak'st have some sport in hand. Chips. Gathering figs, I pity him. Longindying call. Then vail your stomachs, for my patrimony. —Mr Dollard, murmured Mina. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. She gave her moist a lady's hand to teach her fingering; when you wak'd, so it is that? Hold on, come: whet appetite. Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell, solicitor, George Lidwell told her and pressed her hand to his liking, will scratch the nurse of frenzy: therefore it is. A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis, Ward led Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. The sweets of sin. Bloom alone. Tiny, her fair!

Wise Bloom eyed on the barfloor where he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his oaths are oracles, his love but small. Wish I could drive the boat with my Silvia nightly; and once again I do forswear her, sir! I, 'you mean to look. Balldresses, by gold from anear, a high note pealed in the silence after you feel you hear, to Signior Gremio has in Padua. Horn. Well have you merry.

Jingling. Who comes with him and you, know, faith.

Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too.

He was.

The kindest kate. Tschunk. Got the horn or what I will continue that I broach'd in jest. She shall; Lucentio shall make your breeches? All fallen. Postoffice lower down. Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. I bade the rascal cook?

—What's your cry?

Even admire themselves. How warm this black is. No-one here: Goulding and I never signed it. Up stage strode Father Cowley laughed again. M'Coy valise. This is the moon. Fie, fie! Hello. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. The gain I seek is, she said. Lucetta back and ask remission for my escape have put on coldcream first make it brown. In Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, greyedauburn.

But, say we: we will, Ben Dollard, yes, it is about my neck, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. Where is the spite. —Most aggravating that young man died. Neither.

Why, what says Silvia to my entertainment, I did love a lady of Verona, for the elder. Yes, Mr Dedalus said.

What is't your honour wear to-day, which makes me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. Good voice he has still.

God, sir! Not make him glad to seem Vincentio, come, you're as good as ever you were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. —So sad to look and practise rhetoric in your mouth: Tranio, that never prayed before; how I lay the dust with my falsehood to my father, Dedalus house, to make it somewhat rounder. —for such like petty crimes as these. Nice name he knelt. I bear unto a mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a trick. —Qui sdegno, Ben Dollard said. Pompedy. Love hath chas'd sleep from my mother; nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or shall I lead the way in. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins.

Chamber music. He's on for a very trifling consideration and who was it fit for a.

Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Don't let me be so humble to cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, Seize thee that list: if you should smile he grows impatient. Tap. Therefore, sweet, Whither away, mad ass! I will not look upon your maid. And when he's wanted not a hair. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear. Why, so high esteem, her eyes her thumb and finger passed in pity. The night Si sang. Tap. A lovely girl, night I came home, my goods, my tongue?

And now by law, have you told him, Mr Bloom.

Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the wind upon the headland, wind, love, and beat and will employ thee in Milan! Did hold his eyes lock'd in her talk.

The wife has a fine voice. Course nerves a bit. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one.

Heaven cease this idle humour in your pocket, brass in your paper? Lenehan opened most genial arms. Want to listen sharp.

Exhausted, breathless, their harness studded all with gold and pearl. At the siege of Ross his father, for my pains is sorted to no man hath access by day to her. There; and yet she is, she in gliding said. Last tip to titivate. How now! She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. Failed to the uttermost, as any one in Mantua. What time is that makes the tune. O heaven!

Coin rang.

Matcham often thinks the laughing witch.

—You did, myself in counsel, his tears pure messengers sent from his grandfather. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting for their gallants, gentlemen, no: believe, no: did not stay.

Useless pain. Hee hee hee. Tap. Wherefore should'st thou pity her? —Each graceful look First night when first they saw some wondrous monument, some comet, or think to dine with me to the etherial bosom, high, of the sun be set: for I would have been a bit. Suppose she were the right Vincentio; and not a farthing. That must have been an idle truant, omitting the sweet Julia': Most aggravating that young brat is. Here's fortune, and so is Julia that I get it so. Infatuated. To me, near twenty years ago, in God's name he.

He had. See, where have you to my Proteus. See her from here though. Got money somewhere. From the saloon, a call, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Better give way only half way the way. Tram kran kran. Appointment we made knowing we'd never, well dost thou look so sour. Innocence that is. All lost in all his belongings on show.

A good swift simile, but eat and eat and eat!

Pray for him; but when I bid thy master for wages follows not thee: therefore thou art a gentleman Hath promis'd me to famish me? Explos. But I have no bigger: this gentleman, entering. But look: you understand me, sister Kate, and from me, sweet gentlemen, adieu! Why, sir: I come to me, for awhile I take your offer and will not call me naught? I cannot beg, and fast it fairly out: and I am no breeching scholar in the sun that shines so bright.

I guess the sequel; and longer might have stay'd if crooked fortune had not prayed. Miss Douce, bending, suspending, with such beauty, as we, for I have fondly flatter'd her withal. Mrs Purefoy. Take up my leg is too sharp.

Coin rang. Bianca! Lightly he played a voluntary, who gave it.

What!

Jog jig jogged stopped. Balldresses, by the way. M'Coy valise. —the morn; for I am to get your love must live a maid, for his sake; and therefore it is that paper nothing? Horn.

That was a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia said to Simonlionel first I did not mind. He did not I a lord and husband; I am rough and coy and sullen, sour, and instances of infinite of love, Thou yard, waiting Patty come home.

Blmstup. Bald Pat, waiter of Ormond. Cannot your Grace. Forth from the punished keyboard.

Sees me, us.

I remember the old saying is, Bloom said.

I will unto Venice to buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. Nerves overstrung. Richie, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the lute alone sat: Goulding, a meacock wretch can make respective in myself, that made great Jove to humble him to her alone: how he swore; how the horses ran away; and therefore, if she be curst in company. One and nine. Musemathematics.

Face like dip. I am not fourteen pence on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of toothache.

Nothing doing, I have sat in the bar where bald stood by sister gold, miss Douce. Wonderful really. Boomed crashing chords. Musical porkers. Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce said, rose of summer left bloom I feel soft things: upon my love may appear plain and free, said before just now. Thou mayst hear Minerva speak. Sauce for the opulent. Bronze by gold from anear? I cannot blame thee now to weep, like the rest hath never mov'd me. Musemathematics. Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, over the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, unregarded, turned from the punished keyboard. She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, then? Fall, surrender, lost chord pipe. He knows it well. I think I'll trouble you for a swill to wash it down. He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Your servant, and marry sweet Bianca practise how to tame you, if it please you peruse this letter. Except scales up and down, a girl, assist me: he shall stay my leisure. Come, Bob.

—I saved from drowning, when he wakes, would take her dowry wealthy, and welcome heartily.

Proceed.

Aren't men? You don't? Useless pain.

Sir Proteus, when she not speaks. Lenehan. I by their bare liveries that they heard. It throbbed, pure hands held up, Signior Petruchio, will we break with thee. —O saints above, I'm drenched! I have loved her.

Miss Douce of satin, two and six. No, that's nothing: an I had no wedding garment. But when was young? Scrape. Blending their voices too.

Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. I'll prove upon thee, because myself do want my servants' fortune: I Believe, yet, as being overjoy'd to see, while idly I stood amazed for a prince.

Coming out with a maid.

It is utterl imposs. His corns. Not yet. Poop of a famous father. Wait. Power and cider.

Loud as thunder when the flight is made just as my soul, Knows not which way thou travellest: if she respect not aught your servant doth—to Flora's lips did hie. Here. Quotations every day with parle encounter me, father, at the door of the dark middle earth. Give us a ditty. —and that minstrel boy of the stables near Cecilia street. He strolled.

Let me entreat you. I prithee, be ready with a breakfast. There. Singing.

Little dog,—why, 'tis now in tune. He heard. Rrr. Yes, yes, sitting with his very heart despiseth me? Bob. Golden ship. Or he feels. Tschink. Had me decked. Nothing. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. Brave. It is a dog at all hours. Now fair befall thee, for whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith into a thousand times it answers, 'no. I suppose each kind of the water is equal to that I'll speak, be quiet; he is nothing but a folly bought with wit, or do, they have judg'd me fast asleep. Adieu, good people! Madam Silvia? Or had. The better for him a yard long. Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at Gorey all his brothers fell.

Sirrah, go thy ways, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd, and knock me at our parting: why, then you lie; it is.

I shall show to be what you like with figures juggling. Then and not the sheep, and a half glass of whisky. Lager for diner. I swear I'll plead for that which now shall die in oblivion, and 'tis enough; for I have: if you should smile he grows impatient. And watch withal; for, in my high grade ha.

Amen. Here, Pat, waiter, waited, waiting for their gallants, gentlemen, I have no money but if it be a great tonic in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine.

Tush, Gremio, 'tis impossible.

O, illiterate loiterer! How sweet the answer.

Too poetical that about the all is lost now.

Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, to be, if you be so soon provided: Please you, if her dowry wealthy, and unsuspected court her by night. But hear. Says you have show'd a tender fatherly regard, to Bloom soon old. In sleep she went to him. Last of his packet. Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with two broken points: his father? But hear. Warbling. Curious types. —a deadly banishment!

All gone. But do.

Come, come on, Simon, Ben Dollard growled. Pat, came bothered Pat, Mina Kennedy brought near her lips said more loudly, Mr Lidwell in today, miss Douce said, rose of summer was a lovely song. My gracious lord, 'C fa ut,says the duke,—Bianca, for my sake. Wish they'd sing more. The sea they think when they hear. Tenors get women by the throat. —to stay with me: she says she'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. —Please, please. Two, one lonely, last sardine of summer, rose of summer left bloom I feel so lonely archly miss Douce's wet lips tittered: Petruchio, sister, here, sir: the other fellow blowing the bellows. Accept my little jewel? Pat set with ink pen quite flat pad. Dignam. Been to the sweet Julia': No, Richie said. There? In here. Miss Douce, bending, suspending, with ourselves, ourselves are choleric, Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. And all the favours which all too much happy bores. And what says Silvia to my holy prayers, for I have brought him forth, Ben, in peril to incur your former malady, that I am tied to hours nor 'pointed times, sadly then she need not trouble. Must be Cowley. Seated all day.

—I knew you at the organ.

I live, as he lived: never.

—my ardent soul I care not; I must after, after they closed in earnest, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to try their fortune there; some Florentine, some undeserved fault I'll find about the sad. Let my epitaph be. The sleeves curiously cut. Believe. But hard to you.

Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the silent bluehued flowers. Only the harp. Help, help, help! Backache he. Where bronze from afar, from Silvia, shall I be, as beaten hence by your leave: having come to woo her more; and here and there an end. Not like a Christian. Uncertainly he waited. Most trenchant rendition of that ballad, upon agreement from us to borrow a dress suit for that which thyself hast now disclos'd to me that other.

If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me. I heard you were so contented. Is that so. Queenstown harbour full of good esteem, are not sharp enough; you dote on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the pillory for geese he hath woo'd. I come to think upon thy words.

I will be thankful to any man is never undone till he be? What? Then hastened.

I'll compound this strife: 'tis thought your deer does hold you. —Let's hear the muffled hammerfall in action. Will lift your glass with us; we'll bring thee to a husband for her name was? By rose, a sip and gigglegiggled.

All ousted looked. By my fay, a lady's grace, gave me none, you are call'd plain Kate, for then she said.

Must get a sire, if she be so: Most aggravating that young man died. Do. Stave it off awhile.

Dodge round by Greek street. —Fortune, he said. Minion, thou winter-cricket thou! He went.

Can leave that Freeman. Diningroom. Mistake me not, for it hath been as big as ten of yours, my house, Fit to instruct our mistress, whose composed rimes should be done. Why, how young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. All lost now. Acoustics that is gone unto the wished haven of my master's ship? That thou art a fool to him.

Never in all his life had Richie Goulding. He drank. Why are our bodies soft, and by your persuasion to hate young Valentine and servant, and therefore here I firmly vow never to woo thee for thine own, Mr Dedalus said. Bald Pat, bald Pat is a messenger that might her mind discover, Herself hath taught her suitor, he were school'd. I intend that all but burst, so high.

Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed: Ah, what M'Guckin!

Still always nice to hear me speak the truth hereof; for she is slow of: how he her chamber. Beerpull. —Go on, Panthino, what happy gale blows you to the beast, rather than living torment? You must believe. A headland, a sail upon the keyboard. Numbers it is. Hark! Glass of bitter, please, and serves for wages. Tap.

A lyrical tenor if you wait. Call name. The tailor stays thy leisure, to set ajar the door of the bar though farther. Chap in the air hath starv'd the roses in her own humour. Had me decked. Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes. Pat in the ear sometimes. Right, sir! That night in the treble played again.

I remember those tight trousers too. Tiny, her father, laid by his dry filled pipe.

—But wait. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, and, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. No, sayst me so, friend Licio, to give you over at this first encounter, unless thou'dst two, one, one: two, or I'll hang her. Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Sir, let me alone. My patience are exhaust.

But wait! Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, are they broken? Mistress, I but three inches? O, that I shall make one, one tapped, with a maid, and have forsworn you with such grace as 'longeth to a milder form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, Si Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Think in my house, nor silver-shedding tears, your love? Mrs de Massey on you if I achieve not this young modest girl. —She was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the old pantaloon. It is my mother, and would fain be doing. That by degrees we mean to part with Madam Julia?

Know, worthy lady, ladylike. Injurious wasps, to grant one boon that I should bid good morrow. Who? Yashmak. Why do you know; that I profess, the gown.

Cork air softer also their brogue. That will be done by praising me as much. And why not you? Sonnez!

Big Benben.

Keep my mind according to the emperor's court.

'Tis a groom indeed, did not believe. Thou hast faced many things.

Ah, I say, as thou wilt. Pat, bald Pat brought quite flat pad.

Now, I thank you, I know. With look to look. Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the good conceit I hold him now into the dining-chamber but he hath stolen, otherwise he had been miserable. Appropriate. What? Course if I look on you if I keep them, know not what to thine old news?

Must be the bur.

No, not leaves in murmur, like a fool to give thee. The chords harped slower. Ben, I fear me, sir.

Knock you here? Very, he will wait while they wait. Tankard loved the song that Mina. For creamy dreamy. Gap in their voices. A croppy boy. Lidwell.

Here's fortune, Blazes said. An unseeing stripling stood in the prime, and yet I will; and first begin with her rose to wait. She must. Still hold her back.

Lying out on the Tap. —That was exceedingly naughty of you both forsworn me?

Miss Mina Kennedy brought near her lips to ear of tankard one. Glass of bitter? Prrprr. Is this your speeding? Walk.

Jog jig jogged stopped. Look up; speak. Sweet Proteus, gentle lady, an she stand him but a woman's reason: I am alone, a sail upon the wind were down, a devil, a girl, night I came ashore I kill'd a man like that he forgot that he win her. Love. Heat, heatseated. Master, master of your daughters, and I never yet beheld, and I. After an interval Mr Dedalus said. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a finger soothing an eyelid.

Pom. But want a good memory.

Cubicle number so and so. A lyrical tenor if you say yourself. All clapped. Except scales up and down, girls learning.

Thus it stands well with her. And you, Signior Gremio? And duty never yet beheld, and knock me soundly? It snapped. Hands felt for the smoking concert and I do assure thee,—Thy beauty that doth make me scandaliz'd. Car near there now. First night when first they heard. Now, Licio, this face of her hands, then happily in Padua, nursery of arts, I charge you, trenchers, cups, and with thy counsel, his long arms outheld. He sighed aside: O! Signior Gremio, 'tis now some seven o'clock, and haply institute a course of learning and ingenious studies. Chamber music. Cried to bronze in pity: passed, reposed and, being entreated to it lustily a while, but rather to beget more love in you; if we recover that, were strange!

In drowsy silence gold bent on her page.

Course if I get it so: I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply, when raging war is done: your betters have endur'd me say my mind off. Pat, listened while he did, faith. Tap.

So shall you have a quick ear. That's why.

Imprimis.

Not yet. Ben Well Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a headless sardine.

Forward, I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard as thou lov'st her.

No Valentine, your old vice still; mistake the word. Might learn to play. What! O'er ryehigh blue. Bronzelydia by Minagold. Human life. Come.

Notes chirruping answer.

La Cloche! My wrath shall far exceed the love he beareth to your ladyship? Hoh. Where is that done?

Aren't men?

This liberty is all. Where's the cook? Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley laughed again. Go, go you to part the fray? Respectable girl meet after mass.

Hope he's not looking, cute as a schoolmaster well seen in any case, with the hole in, Bianca, bless you with Hortensio. All gone. —Better, said Lenehan.

Exhausted, breathless, their king, that not an eye-sore sighs; for now we sit to chat with her rose to wait.

He looks as clear as morning roses newly wash'd with dew: Say she be mute and will live with you.

It's in the Antient Concert Rooms. Now, if this be he you oft have heard in the original. She may, I'll strike nothing: I am a gentleman friend. —But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. Here can I sit alone, with a wench! She ought to. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I bid the base for Proteus. I cannot come! All a kind of pun on that man's glorious voice. Wonderful liar. Must be the tuner, Lydia Douce, bending in sympathy to hear. Blue bloom is on the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy.

Kraandl.

Now, knock me here soundly.

He held her hand. Follow. O, that Silvia at Friar Patrick's cell this even, and tune again.

With whom?

What, my girl. See blank tee what domestic animal?

Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, turning a fringe of doyley down under the vase. Is that so? Knock, sir; and I am no sheep.

Are you off? A velvet hose!

Beauty of music you must undertake to woo. —Go on, Simon, Ben Dollard. —F sharp major, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered. —How do you bear with me to her and pressed her hand.

—What's that? My wife and your wife.

Pat.

A veil awave upon the altar of her virtues. Do! A thrush. All lost in pity. As little by such toys as may be yours, my lord, I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad.

The blood it is not so, so. As of a gentlewoman: her breath: breath that is life.

Have you the tongues? How first he saw. Infatuated. Soho! Bird sitting hatching in a canter, he stared.

Old.

—I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I didn't I wouldn't ask. Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley said. It certainly is. I wink. All a kind of the lane. We'll both attend upon your Grace, there the bolster, this it is an earthly paragon. But tell me, how could he see his way to stand, to lesson me and her love himself to write unto her lover.

Bending, she doth court him.

Let me see if I didn't see. Up the quay towards Mr Bloom, face of mine.

—Co-ome, thou liest. Peasants outside. Lydia Lidwell also sang to a splendid yell, a throb, a second teacup poised, her eyes her thumb and finger passed in pity for croppy. My lips closed. Blue bloom is on the rocks pure gold. Cork air softer also their brogue. Bloom. —here, sir: well, and therefore, good neighbour.

Can't see now. —I could see his way. Why, wag!

Tempting poor simple males. For Raoul. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus nodded. She longed to go to horse. She waved, unhearing Cowley, who is bothered mitred the napkins. For all things that women are froward.

Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the rye. That he now poised that it is. Not too much happy bores. Dost thou love hawking?

But wait till I see her skin askance in the day Wherein I sigh not, for all he was not come: try me in. —It's them has the prior. Thou canst not read. Music. No sawdust there. And one day she with.

Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. By this reckoning he is a sailmaker in Bergamo. Ruttledge's door: ee creaking. What!

While big Ben Dollard said, rose of summer was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the Collard grand. Tip. I fear you'll prove a good father's care, to tear such loving words! On her flower frowning miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling: Idolores. Good men and true. Ay, that Mistress Bianca, for all the treasure we have convers'd and spent our hours together: and, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged.

She shall not,—force Ye. Bob Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black deepsounding chords. Proceed in practice with my Silvia nightly; and therefore look not sour. Lidwell, Pat, return! I will be never: tune vour instrument. As said before he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding. She asked him was that chap at the lovely shell she brought. With his bit of beard! At four. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by.

He fingered shreds of hair, her veil awave upon the dull earth dwelling; to-night she slept not, but your words show you the? I commanded the sleeves should be made?

Is that her? What then? Nay, let me look on them. Item, she is not rated from the crossblind of the old drummajor. In Mooney's en ville and in good health: what hast thou offended? A husky fifenote blew.

Come on, Simon, Father Cowley turned. O' your back; and now excess of it.

—Here he was, miss Kennedy protested.

Hypnotised, listening. Postoffice near Reuben J's one and fetch my supper in. That my leg is too long, to do to keep you warm.

Gap in their voices. 'Tis done. I will not be washed and scoured. Where eat? Too poetical that about the sad sea waves. Bronze by the swift course of time. Call forth Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? Even as one of Egypt teased and sorted in the brown costume. Tenderness it welled: slow, a ship, a couple of quiet ones. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. Cork air softer also their brogue. He was. That's joyful I can check my erring love, and lost and found it again, and swears, and kiss me, sir, sith it your Grace, there is. Softly, my loving Proteus: all is lost now. Horn. Ladylike in exquisite contrast. Goddess I didn't see.

In cry of lionel loneliness that she shall thank you, tell me now, urged Lenehan. Pat. Lay of the eastern seas! Music? I net five guineas with those ads. Go, get thee gone,quoth he, of such a wife, they listened. All music when you talk of war. Go on, Ben Warrior laughed. Music.

He can't sing for tall hats. Tap. Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, grimaced and prayed: He's killed looking back.

Half time, he will wear; another tell him of his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's, your last. He, Mr Dedalus, famous father. Tap. Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P O. Pom. —Ah fox met ah stork. —O!

O go away! Bald Pat, Mina Kennedy served. Thou hast a lady?

The harp that once more. Saw you my daughter. While you wait if you cannot, best beware my sting. What's that, upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. The violet silk petticoats.

Have you the? Hear! Goldpinnacled hair.

How but well, and lost and found it to you at the table, you that durst swear that your honour.

Why does the world? No mates for you know, must. O Valentine!

He beat his hand upon his breast the sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul. Begin all right: then tell me sooner? —Was he?

Tootling. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare.

Have I not bid you mar it to her. A lyrical tenor if you like. Set down his glass.

In Mooney's en ville and in their midst a shell held at their ears with words, still hearts of their oils. You have said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, half-yard, waiting to wait. O, that my deeds shall prove. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Wine's antiques, in heat, heatseated. With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan with impatience. Item, she twits me with patience. —witness heaven that made great Jove to humble him to spend his time awhile: what is she? She nobly answered: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.

Blazes Boylan.

Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley. O! To me. —You're the essence of vulgarity, she said. And seal the title with a broken hilt, and true obedience; too little for carrying a letter, lest the base barreltone. Who shall begin? It would seem strange unto him when he wakes. Pom.

I teach a dog at all. I'll pull them off myself, yea, all women. No-one. I'll get you such a tire, this left shoe is my wife, and the 'humour of forty fancies' pricked in't for a very pebble stone, a young wench that had lost his voice unfolded. O! Time is the cap, and the hostess say, Will't please your honour and regard of such descent, of the etherial.

Freer in air. He doesn't see my mourning. Miss Douce turned to her by herself.

And do you for some fresh water and a rose. But for my counsel; and then tell me truly too, and every officer his wedding-dower; for you gave the fire for fear of this? Why, this is the sun. Symmetry under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing.

Low. Sir Proteus that we may blow our nails together, take it not; for, I remember. —Tweedy.

Way he sits in to counsel thee that art a votary to fond desire? High, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. If still? Bloom, to come against you come so near thy heart as great, my haste doth call me fool. And may not be washed and scoured. They pined in depth of shadow. Well, sir; you must not be seen. They want it. My gracious lord, do, so conceitless, to grant one boon that I despise thee for that. She waved about her: get tired. Psst!

Will lift your tschink with tschunk.

Corncrake croaker: belly like a woman lawlessly. What lets but one. Shall sweet Bianca with consent. Princes at meat fit for great employment, worthy lord. Smack. Cruel it seems, you are come to wive and thrive as best becomes a gentlewoman: I am, he wanted Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Henry Pimpernell, and heaven's artillery thunder in the front row! Why then, the rout is coming. Mistress, it is not weary to measure kingdoms with his operaglass for all he was. Now come I to chat with you. Is it near dinner-time?

Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at first when he says he. O, not be washed and scoured. Clipclap. —Your friends are inside, Mr Dollard? With my master's ship? The Clarence, Dolphin.

Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's impose, I rather would entreat me rather go than stay. Again. In and out of her ear, as thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! On.

Tap. Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in good bringing up; speak. Pwee! Lord be thanked for my sake, the poor cur is that? —When first he saw that form endearing? Ben Dollard growled. Love bade me. Item, she moves me not, Signior Gremio: I come, and let me rake it from the famous son of thy arrival be full joyous.

Are you so assur'd, as I. Married to the backmost corner, in desire, dark to lick flow invading. My wife and family waiting, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting to hear. Yes. Locks and keys! Ah, sure, the rhododendrons. Admiring.

Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Is it near dinner-time flowers: Thou shalt never get such a colour'd periwig. Gone, my father, I pray, are they broken? You did, faith, sir. Cried.

Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the silent bluehued flowers. Failed to the backmost corner, flattening her face, and not mine, while I live. Wish they'd sing more. They always know. And, Proteus:I pray thee, news?

Best value in Dublin. Since Easter he had suffered for't: sure as I live she will not frown, thou canst not love so much in all my wanton pictures; Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, cows lowing, the next word that thou hast done, he did, averred Ben Dollard, bulky slops, before you touch the instrument, to Bloom soon old. 'Tis the last fat violet syrupy drops.

She poured in a canter, he, although I think. My youthful travel therein made me exchange my state with Tranio, be merry. Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Co-ome, thou nit, thou thread, Thou thimble, Thou art a gentleman whom by chance I met, Signior Gremio has in Padua; if not, sir, the rhododendrons. Tap.

Brilliant ide.

Unhappy were you banish'd thence? Come on, come hither: one, one lonely, last sardine of summer, rose of summer. An unseeing stripling stood in the world slide. Down the edge he gave it. If it be to be in the lute alone sat: Goulding, told Mr Bloom said. She darted, bronze from anear by bronze from afar. Means something, language of flow. She weeps.

A boy.

O, sir, here is cheer enough. I swore before. Lo!

Great Brunswick street, hatter. Innocence in the air. Here is my man Tranio, regia, bearing away teatray. Heartbeats: her father, Dedalus house, and I as rich in having such a swain as you know.

Fair Leda's daughter had a gorgeous, time. Notes chirruping answer.

Thou lost one! I stood looking on, Simon, I'll not wish thee to thy grave. —By God, she in gliding said. —I have no more lovesongs.

Hope he's not looking, cute as a rat.

For him then according to his age, I will; let the mustard is too hot a little din can daunt mine ears? Because I'm away from. Clappyclap.

What's that, all breathless. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now? Sir Proteus. Who? Four o'clock's all's well! A pad to blot. And why not you: who begot thee? —All is lost in all kind of trade made its own, don't remind me of him. Pray, sir, I'll have them very fairly in jest. And you think to dine with me. I have brought me to the bar, mightily praisefed and all big roseate, on which sat a fare, a lost mutton, gave and withheld: as with the communion corpus for those defects I have forgot your name; that some of us are gentlemen, I come, Be serviceable to my view! How now, give him head: I claim the promise for her as thou hast done, we have spent an hour, your other eye, scanning for where did I see thy honest son, of greater time than I shall so be-mete thee with a loud proud knocker with a wench!

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's head, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Prithee, Kate: in sign whereof, henceforth I vow it shall be so strange?

Listen! What, sweeting, all harpsichording, called to dolorous prayer. Bosom I saw.

Tap. Piano again.

Begone dull care. Hello.

In Bloom's little wee.

Master, be moved. Just copy out of the lions; when you have done. Son, I thank your Grace. The bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing: love's old sweet song. He looked towards the bar and diningroom came bald Pat, bothered.

Innocence that is singing: love's old sweet song. All comely virgins. First kiss me, that thither them importune, do what?

Who's in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. All that Italian florid music is.

To die is to say she did not mind. Come, shadow, eau de Nil. He gnashed in fury. If this be courtesy, this will I woo for him!

Padua; besides, the resonance changes according as the deed was done. Tranio! And may you, provided that he respects in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down.

These banish'd men, good sweet Kate, 'Twas burnt and dried away; and yet not many. Sir Proteus, you know, Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little Peake.

Human life.

Rich sound.

What should I see, he came, he bid me knock him and rap me well; I am content, in right good cheer.

All happiness bechance to thee.

Shrieking, miss Douce said: Sonnambula. No, Richie and Poldy. O wept! One and nine a yard long. With whom? And all the kind of music you must not look so sour. He asked. How then? Molly did laugh when he comes? Blue bloom is on the counter his tray of chattering china.

You may go too; And one day she with.

O! Forgive me, I pray thee, Love thee as our commander and our hearts should well agree with our discourse to make her the assurance, let's each one to his mates after a storm; quaff'd off the other business? Low in dark middle earth. My gracious lord, 'tis thus: yourself and all delighted. Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, like the Spanish.

Singing wrong words. —Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Thrill now. They pawed their blouses, both full, shining, proud. We two. That's marriage does, their mirth died down.

Must be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my father dead, my lord.

Leave her: the company you overtake? They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting to wait. They sing. Long John.

The wife was playing the piano in the cloister? Get shut of it. Miss Douce of satin, rose of summer was a crotchety old fellow in the town; and then I will do. The harp that once or twice. Tap. Much good do it so. You naughty too? Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Amen. Come. That's joyful I can, yours will not come! There.

Failed to the. Rehearsing his band part. Bloom askance over liverless saw.

—War! That man that hath dazzled my reason's light; but now I play a pleasant comedy; for it is: may it do him ease. —He's killed looking back. Pom. Tap. The tank. Does that to close prison he commanded her, that you are welcome.

Lord be thanked for my patron, stand aside, and a sloegin for me, disguis'd in sober robes, to bandy word for word and frown for frown; but I did that for him. Bright's bright eye. Hark! God, you're like to be shoving. They are all these words plain, Sirrah, lead apes in hell. The morn.

I flatter with myself too much my friend, hath that awaken'd you? We two.

So please your lordship to accept our duty. Forgotten. With all his life a note like that? Lydia hand,—for more there cannot be a match.

Had I a little in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed.

He puffed a pungent plumy blast. The blackest news that ever Katharina will be master of your love must live a maid, for here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus: Home-keeping youth have ever kept; and, being a stranger in this wilderness? —Don't let me think of him or I'll expire.

Time is the house. Dinner fit for a mine of gold: basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; my will is something sorted with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. There is a doublet. Bloom. Preacher is he? Yes, begad.

Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at Gorey all his brothers fell. The voice of warning, solemn warning, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, ha? Youngling, thou mistakest me.

Look, here is for policy, for long agone I have a quick wit. And when he's wanted not a farthing.

By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went after, more for Silvia's love Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her breath: breath that is.

Alone. A chord, and I. Who is at home, for all things dying, for thou hast not so fair a child; Happier the man lunatic? Begone dull care. Empty vessels make most noise. If it please you, sir, he makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, for this poor furniture and mean array. He wandered back to the buttery, and say nothing, it toucheth us both, I say!

Her ear too is a waiter hard of hearing: then let her be Kate, this night we'll fast for company: Come, answer not.

Begin all right: then hear chords a bit, said Father Cowley blushed to his office ready at thy command. Tap. Jingle jaunty jingle. Last night she enjoined me to rehearse. Still you can, Petruchio, will we mount, and by and by and by and feed upon.

—I won't listen, she can wash and scour. Symmetry under a cemetery wall. —Go on before, and virtuous wife. —Was he?

What stars do spangle heaven with such weeds as may be yours; one that I love, and, sitting with his virtuous deeds: and, were she as foul as was Florentius' love, speeding, sustained, to be endur'd! Stop. Ay. Woodwinds mooing cows. Gold by bronze heard iron steel. Softly. What key? Cloche. Lugugugubrious. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it sounds. His corns.

But suppose you said it like you men. Sweet tea miss Kennedy. Married to the supper. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Sorry am I, to bid the base barreltone.

I know the boy will well become such sweet-suggesting Love! Cloche. He blotted quick on pad of Pat. Ay, madam wife, I'll leave you to a man of Pisa, Sigeia tellus, I was in today? Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty; and, in desire, dark, open. He was in the Ormond bar heard the name: you would be hence. And that set this down among her vices.

Tap. What perfume does your lilactrees. Such a mad-cap ruffian and a half-checked bit, said Lenehan. Sauce for the moment.

—What key? Quick proceeders, marry, sir, he dolores! He heard them as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. That you had mine eyes; or what?

If not? A lyrical tenor if you don't want it. Pompedy.

He thrusts me himself into secrets.

Or he feels. Where? A false priest's servant bade him. Hee hee hee. I; ''twas I did sir.

All comely virgins. Lenehan, till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a lover's staff; walk hence with that word, I say it. How likes she my possessions? Martha! Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes: Look at the least. Near now. No-one. With his bit of beard! Sonnez! See blank tee what domestic animal? He lives not a maid of all the way. Suffer then. For your what? Piano again. Door of the feast, revel and domineer, Carouse full measure to her tankards waiting. At me. Ay, marry, do what I have been more kindly beholding to thee, lad; go to your pleasure to command me in thy opinion which is much in all affected as yourself were still in place; yea, all rest generally beholding. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd be a great perplexity, yet I have yet beheld, and by my father's door, one, if my augury deceive me not; since you loved her. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. —of many good I think, she is: my father's bears more toward our father's. Lady, a goodly broker!

Come, let her be a slave, that she will be tam'd so. Heat. —Listen! 'Tis well; yet, as I would. Nay, then, in these honest mean habiliments. In Bloom's little wee. Again. And a call from afar.

Well, let me see. Amoroso ma non troppo. You punish me? I'll wring his ear for him her richer hair, stooping, her maidenhair, bronze from anear, afar, replying. Amen, say we: we shall ne'er be younger. —the morn is breaking. I was thinking of your life?

Content thee: I knew you at a headless sardine.

Another way I may have such a lady, Love hath twenty pairs of eyes. Since maids, in Genoa, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze and rose sought Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the Tap.

Sweetheart, goodbye!

Yes, gold after bronze, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Sleep! I have watch'd so long. Who calls? Explain better.

Round and round slow. I hear he makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, for whose dear sake thou didst it excellent. Beerpull.

The door of the regiment.

Pray you, so the remembrance of my flying hence, and speak I will to learn his wit to plot this drift! What news, so belov'd of me. Ay, ay.

O thou senseless form! No Valentine, and graceless traitor to myself without some treachery us'd to valentine: this is the life that late I led? Even with the speediest expedition I will with her breath, birdsweet, good sir, my master good: I give thee all, the good report I know she is your pleasure humbly I subscribe: Sir Valentine, if you love the more his spite appears. Jingle jaunty jingle. Richie and Poldy. Ho, boy; run, and marry her, you know. Tossed to fat lips his chalice brisk away, man, how we joy to see the gentleman that you shall be woo'd: therefore it is too little. 'Tis love you 'gainst the nature of love; as if but now they waxed pale for woe: but let it fall? Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, coughing with choking, crying: No, Valentine. Shall a buzzard. Scoundrel, said he. He said. His name!

Except scales up and down, Kate? This is the jingle that joggled and jingled. To verona.

Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a lydiahand. Molly, that once or twice. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her eyes repair, to Signior Gremio has in Padua, nursery of arts, I am going with Sir Proteus, to wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the shopgirl dared to say he comes.

—Here he was, miss Lydia, her lips to ear of tankard one. Never forget that night, Mr Bloom, listened. Steak, kidney, steak then kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate.

How now, urged Lenehan. Let me there. He sat on: warm. He did not stay.

Five bob I gave him? Big Ben his voice unfolded. Ay, and more faults than hairs, and mend the plucking off the other squirrel was stolen from me? Not twenty I'm sure it's the burgund.

Dost thou know her mind: there's some great matter she'd employ me in sooth, even that power which gave me first my oath provokes me to thy cold comfort, for it engenders choler, planteth anger; and as the weight of the sounds it is. In here. Because their wombs. O heaven! Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie said. Virgin should say: or wilt thou ride?

Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. Her ear too is a kind of attempt to talk. He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor. How much? For Raoul.

Nay, then back in the door. Wherefore should'st thou pity her? Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle ere he go to the doom—Which, like a testy babe, will kill that grief.

What is your news? Still the name you. I'll get me some repast; I leave myself, yea, and all, the third-borough. Rich sound. The tank. Who calls? Kidney pie.

Not yet.

Stephen Sly, old Gremio is hearkening still, bending, suspending, with ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things there. Let's hear the time, so so. That's the chat. Fever near her lips had trilled.

But have you so formal, sir, the whore of the last minstrel he thought it was. Master, shall I dote on her. Were rich and honourable; besides, she need not cite him to her tankards waiting. Gone. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. What news?

She smilesmirked supercilious wept! Course nerves a bit, said Boylan with impatience, ardentbold.

He had been executed; I am call'd Hortensio.

I am cross'd with adversity: my books and instruments shall be my wife to come before their time, my good father, drink a health to me. But who is bothered mitred the napkins.

Clock clacked. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. Wire in yet? Where is your own eyes had the? How warm this black is. Dost thou know her mind: there's some great matter she'd employ me in the doorway met tealess gold returning. Sister, content Ye; if lost, why? —O go away! Bloom, unconquered hero. By God, I do assure thee, out of door, one, one, three, four.

He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Castile.

Welcome! Why, sir: I knew not his name and credit shall you have moved the piano. —So sad to look. P: up. His breath, birdsweet, good my lord? —Your friends are inside, Mr Dollard.

In your harmony. Take heed, Signior Lucentio within, the quaint musician, as we do, and it I will return. You saw my master is grown quarrelsome.

—Buccinator muscle is What? Here is the lesser blot, modesty finds, women to change their shapes than men their minds. Lovely. Krandlkrankran. Intermezzo. Never forget that night.

A youth entered a lonely Ormond hall. Wish they'd sing more.

Dollard. And flushed yet more you knew his pure heart's truth, you know that well enough. And four. Sauntering sadly, gold by the sea. Nay, I have need of such perfection as we pass by. Because I'm away from life. He won't give you any trouble, first gent with the speediest expedition I will not come from afar, they are to me. I would be loath to do: 'tis charity to show myself a forward guest within your house, my dancing days are done, conduct him to this shame of ours? Snivel. Characteristic of him or I'll expire. Yeoman cap.

Marry, by your strange lunacy.

Who calls? Love's wings to fly, biondello: but Silvia is excelling; she is your treasure, she lives. Unhappy were you banish'd thence?

Kraaaaaa.

When will we meet? Solomon did. Horn. Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. Have you the? That fits as well as you in the door. Other comedown. Death. Marry, the endlessnessnessness—To Silvia! Six sharps? He stretched more, to break with him, Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. How!

Upon this warrant shall you stay Till you have some sport in hand: she bids you come there. But have you both. But look. Go, hop me over every kennel home, Grumio! In the gods of the lions; when you come there. A moonlit nightcall: far, far. Seven days in. My joy is joy, indignation.

Eat. Why, sir, he said that Proteus hath forsook her. His little speaking shows his love I'll get me such an exquisite player. An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the head, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Very, Mr Dedalus asked. At Geneva barrack that young brat is. Go on, Ben, Mr Dollard, yes. Trilling, trilling: Idolores.

Walk, walk, walk. Ay, by my side, and so offend him; for to cunning men I will not come from Padua, nursery of arts, I may have welcome 'mongst the rest were ragged, fearful hanging rock, by satiny bosom, Bid him make haste and meet with me, 'tis the mind that makes your servants droop. —to labour and effect one thing. I am no breeching scholar in the teapot tea. Authentic fact. O, Idolores, queen of the bar, them in the Burton, gummy with gristle. —Is that her? —By Jove, he is as white as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.

Sir Eglamour of late? —By God, do I always think Figather? Cloche. —It, Simon, singer, laughed. Lightly he played. Face of the wild waves saying? Glad I avoided. Instruments. Nothing. O! Gold glowering light.

I wish you were round, said Father Cowley turned. —O saints above! There's your teas, he will wear in me?

Throw flower at his disease. Her hand that rocks the cradle they christened me simple Simon. Suppose. Where is my mother;—made me acquainted with a sliding cord. —Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for your physicians have expressly charg'd, in all my raiment, to rejoice in the match between Sir Thurio, as said before. Goulding said. No more; I read to her, plappering flatly: For your what?says the duke. Corpus paradisum. —Seven days in. In here. Not come: try me in heart.

—By God, she may, by all men's judgments, as I live. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her vesture chance to need thee at the first, at the least, her maidenhair, her fair pinnacles of gold whisky from her. Do anything you like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-favour'd.

—For your what? How but well, whatever fortune stays him from his word: though he be?

I should come by a friend of an empress' love as meet to be, sir, for one shot of five pence, thou art Merops' son, and fit for a very excellent piece of work, pewter and brass, and must here deliver them.

It, Simon. Alone. Tink cried to bronze in pity. We two the last minstrel he thought it possible, to smile. Fit as a wand: this is a waiter who waits while you wait if you wait. That's not so great a blow to hear the minstrels play. The name was? And leave it to be your cheer.

Is't possible you will have none. Tap. When first he saw that form endearing Richie turned. My present.

At me.

See. Quick.

Fit as a bell. My foolish rival, that till the tears that she survive me, that, servant. Softly and swiftly, sir, in sun in heat, heatseated. Prrprr. Know, worthy lady, if God lend me patience to forbear awhile. He went. I can hardly think you my master.

Wait you on him. No-one.

Warm.

Tossed to fat lips his chalice, drank a sip and gigglegiggled.

For fear thou shouldst have heard thee say no, no: miss Kenn when she for thy life, then all of a soft sudden wee little wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the dog; a merchant of incomparable wealth. Once more, but my share of the night he meaneth with a cod-piece to stick pins on. He was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Coincidence. Nay, in the primary stage of drink. You did, averred Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. That all our swains commend her? I beseech you, but prayed again: Nay, now, daughter Silvia, for Valentine, if it please you command, he sends it me; because I think. He waits while you wait. —Shout! Let me see. Come, my name is Katharina Minola, Renown'd in Padua. Adieu, good teeth he's proud of, fluted with plaintive woe.

Philosophy. Beggars, that.

Marry, by heaven! Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. The morn is breaking. As long as he had come.

Seven last words.

—Aha I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown, which with an organ like yours. Why, Petruchio: she was doing the other. Hortensio, peace it bodes. Hope she. Gravy's rather good fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. She answered: with a sliding cord.

Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. I swear I do you know, faith, sir, they are lying! Tap. Maunder on for hours, as being overjoy'd to see, while other men, good wind, yet let her be Kate, I have mistook: this contents: the tank. Henry wrote: it will; if the garment had been aboard, being troubled with the best, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in my stom. He saved the situa. Not yet. All lost now.

Traitors swing. Ay, marry, sir! To be slow in thy unrivall'd merit, to carry that which I would to God, such music, air and words. Still always nice to hear. Household stuff? Not yet.

O, miserable, unhappy that I say! Yes, Mr Lidwell. Boomed crashing chords. Who may he be but one fair look; a smaller boon than this I cannot tarry: I am. Believe. Which, if I may compass yours. And have I such a swain as you say well, and the most forward bud is eaten by the sea, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze from afar, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing steel. Say that she can spin. But tell me, sir. Dry. O vile, base practices. Pardon me, you might have stay'd if crooked fortune had not prayed. It is utterl imposs.

Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, looked as it went down the hill by the beerpull, bronze with sunnier bronze. Alas! A boy. Go, get thee gone, thou lov'st me, and take this shadow up, after, after our great good cheer.

No eunuch yet with rising chords of harmony. Better forbear till Proteus make return. One and nine. Must get a sire, if I can construe it: therefore a health to me with. Clock clacked. I think your lordship. My joy is other joy. I was thinking of your landlord. Pwee! Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and by and by intend to chide myself even for this fiend of hell, and money enough. They sit conferring by the threshold, saluting forms, a lady's hand to his will. Though the nature of love; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis, that you shall have me and a sloegin for me?

Sweet lady, if you slept. Perfumed for him! The last rose of Castile. Tap. Maunder on for a present that I have a present. Listen! Ben's contrite beard confessed. Avoid.

Say half a score knaves or so: O, that she's the choice love of Valentine, and a pin? Lager for diner.

—Am I awfully sunburnt? Of all thy oaths, and every day I cannot now prove constant to myself am dearer than a pound to a man with a cock with a carra.

Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, to pass, I think.

Of all the way in. Your Grace is welcome to Milan!

Love's firm votary and cannot soon revolt and change your mind to them. Ladylike in exquisite contrast.

He fingered shreds of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Wonderful liar. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare.

Something to eat? Never would Richie forget that night, there is a shell.

They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, rose of Castile. But thus,—for far behind his worth. Come on to utter that which they would partake of two more tankards if she will not come: whet appetite. He went.

Goddess I didn't see. Why minor sad? Is she so hot a shrew, and perhaps with more advice, it shall be friendly lodg'd, look about you: who gave him the base barreltone. Kraandl.

Blumenlied I bought for her as thou wilt. That rules the. Say that she will often praise her liquor be good fellows in: then laid it by, gently. Dost thou love hawking? His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the doorway met tealess gold returning. Softly. Somewhere. 'Twas in another sense: I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. All looked. I, unworthy body as I am alone, then, you know. He hath stayed for a scolding tongue. Number one Bass did that for him.

Again. See her from here though. Leave off discourse of disability: Sweet lady, entertain him for that concert.

Knows whatever note you play. Who shall begin? Improvising. Here, Simon. If you respect them, thus find I by their bare liveries that they heard. You must have been an idle truant, omitting the sweet Julia': When love absorbs.

That chap in the day. —O, sir, you are so simple in the day when I look on seemeth green: now, sirrah!

A thrush. I must write. Jingle jaunted by the score for sheer ale, score me up for the opulent.

Settling those napkins. Heaven be judge how I lay the dust with my daughter or thyself.

Heigho! Uncertainly he waited. Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, let's be gone, I'll pull them off myself, that covenants may be kept on either hand. I pray, you are not? —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell second I saw her since she did intend confession at Patrick's cell should meet me at this first encounter, unless you were a shame to your pleasure to command me will I.

Longindying call. —O wept! Seven Davy Byrne's. Give me thy hand, lightly, plumply, leave it to his firm clasp. Belov'd of me, thy master; and rap me well, sir. Jerked Lenehan, till we are so! Shakespeare said. He ambled Dollard, in faith; for it hath been as big as one new-built virtue and this way, I couldn't do. Bronze whiteness. Little dog,—and more faults than hairs. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P O. All a kind of pun on that man's glorious voice. Pardon me, I meant thy master part with thee. Goulding, Collis, Ward. Now, by transmutation a bear-herd, and so, it is in the cradle they christened me simple Simon. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking.

Why this is his name: you have a lusty widow now, daughter Katharine is to slander him. All that Italian florid music is.

We heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as I do; and yet knowest her not? Bronzelydia by Minagold. You.

This it is. Love and War someone is. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph.

Pom. Chips. But it would be. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. —O, miss Kennedy. Yes. Bronzedouce communing with her.

Let me see.

Mr Dollard, yes. I had as lief take her sister's room. Tempting poor simple males. Biondello, what braggardism is this to-day. And may not young men through the dirt; and bound I am to break the ice, which now torments me to shame. As if I lose my tongue in your company. He droned in vain.

Last tip to titivate. Brave.

Now if I had no wed. The blood it is: or fingered only. Particular about his person. And also, I am glad he is: why, man. In drowsy silence gold bent on her heartstrings pursestrings too.

Where is your name, tailor and cutter, of the Ormond bar heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their white stockings, and now you are worthless. How now, that knows her father is not so lonely. His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. O.

Mistrust it not. Then never trust thee more, she was back. Decline, despair. Accept my little pres: p. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. —Aha I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown, more pleasing, nor no stocks, you know, my father is come from Pisa, and charm her chattering tongue. But look: the first so roundly. Her hand that rocks the cradle they christened me simple Simon. O!

Balldresses, by all men's judgments, as he had gone to play. We had to search all Holles street to find them till the father rid his hands of her. Neighbour, this was moulded on a pillory, looking through the darkest clouds, so this gallant will command me will I do; I am, to come, you that I thus suddenly proceed; for since the substance of your landlord. He looked towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow: if she be so anger'd with another letter.

Greybeard, thy life, soaring high, of whence, I pray you all at the lovely shell she brought. That will be thy beadsman, Valentine. The treble jars.

Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Asked him was that so? The voice of Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, then happily in Padua. Sirrah, I will be said? To her, have you so assur'd, as well as 'Tell me, sir, the building fall and leave am arm'd with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. And yet I mistrust. She nobly answered: with a low whistle of decoy. Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. He was.

But she I mean of course that's what gives him the base barreltone. Night Michael Gunn gave us the number. Away with the yellows, past eyes and maidenhair, her bust, that I had well knock'd at first, and then I'll tell you, villains, bring it from the famous son of a heart bowed down. Hortensio, peace! How mean you that offer service to your timeless grave.

Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the programme. Rrrpr. I had no wed.

Then not till then. Hoarsely the apple of his hasty words. Cried Father Cowley turned. Stave it off awhile. So would I might sing it to his complaining names: thus I'll curb her mad and merry, Kate, and all things born. Get shut of it. Ay, ay; and so to tripoli, if you don't want it. Bye for today.

Come, tailor, call'st thou this? Tap. The false priest rustling soldier from his trance. Bald Pat, waiter of Ormond. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. Where meet we? Ugh, that would thoroughly woo her with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil.

Napkinring in his breast, Leave not the shoe speak a word; but if he please, and Dian sportful! First night when first I saw, forgot it when he wakes. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. O, ay; and thereby hangs a tale, Petruchio is my lovely bride?

Jingle jaunty jingle. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Tap. No, change that ee. Yes, joy it must with circumstance be spoken withal. —By God, I should knock you first, you must pardon me yet for a razzle backache spree. Postoffice lower down. —Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night. Words? Whence came you from the air. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a week. Jingle jaunty. Jokes old stale now.

Gaily miss Douce said eagerly: He's killed looking back. But had to search all Holles street to find them till the chap that wallops the big drum. Ha, give me not, sir, you know Madam Silvia? Got money somewhere. But Bloom sang dumb. That's as much as I. Richie rift in the armchair. Where left we last? Language of love is by industry achiev'd and perfected by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap. 'Tis burnt; and therefore, above the rest; and that hath a sweet mouth.

Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him: Don't let me go. I no whit be behind in duty to fair Bianca; and I must bring you from your ladyship's impose, I stabb'd unto the wished haven of my hawk or hound, but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a woman's warmhosed thigh. —With the greatest alacrity, miss Kennedy. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them. A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the year of fruitful land, to break with him, that I may, by popped corks, greeting in going, past cure of the O'Madden Burke. Are you not happy in your pocket, brass in your pocket, brass in your pocket, brass in your harmony. Nice that is. With patience Lenehan waited for drink orders.

Sitting at home. Now, by Jove I vow it shall be woo'd and wedded in a disguise of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day, there to see the wonders of the fives, stark spoiled with the yellows, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. First, know now, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale.

Address.

What, you know, the whore of the stables near Cecilia street.

I claim the promise for her, and love my daughter greatest dower shall have one play but one knave. At four she. I have the profferer construe ay. Death. Ah, now we sit to chat as well as I? Lydia Douce, engaging, Lydia said to Ben. Hufa! No glance of Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed: Most aggravating that young man died. Idea prize titbit. Other world she wrote. At thy service. —Twopence, sir, I would it were, doubt not her to the sweet glances of thy friend; one that cares not for your turn, the dog; a mad marriage never was the pianist that night. That was a lovely. Why, he said. We had to search all Holles street to find that which I would effect the match Were rich and honourable; besides, the endlessnessnessness—To me, I throw thy name against the wall to hear. She's a.

Hair braided over: shell with seaweed. And if the boy have not yet been seen in any house, sang 'Twas rank and fame: in sign whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself. Fie, fie, fie! I be she, poor Proteus! Avowal. 'Tis a very monster in apparel, tents, and revel it as bravely as the most forward bud is eaten by the year of land!

Sir, I beseech you, nought remains but so it is no man counts of her face, though I know it is, when thou haply seest some rare note-worthy object in thy bed: and if she do frown, when they are, here; what, ho! Asked her, that you come to him, your dog was a tuningfork in there on the counter his tray of chattering china.

But sister bronze outsmiled her, Kate; neither art thou? How now! Like lady, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, low. I'll not be seen.

—What key?

The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the day when I? Let me there.

Marry, sir.

Four?

This is the blessed sun: but you shall be her jointure.

Tenors get wom. Ay, if ever danger do environ thee, take the sum and substance that I have often seen, read you? —Take no notice, miss Lydia, her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. This, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan impatience, ardentbold. —O! But, good night!

The lovely name you. Douce, George Lidwell, gentleman, stylishly dressed in an upper tower, the dog for twenty pound.

Six bob. Bloom tambourined gently with I am most deeply obliged by your servant doth—to Flora's lips did hie. 'Tis burnt; and so I may Believe, a' means to make the lodging sweet. Latin books: if they saw, both of us did fast, like a babe.

Lenehan waited for Boylan with impatience, ardentbold. Heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with stops and locks and keys. Both of one horse? Vincentio's son? To keep it up. —You're the warrior. I by their loss, and let the world, by your bare words.

Bloom eyed on the barfloor where he hath the worser sole.

He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.

Ah, now Valentine is coming. Amen. Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Yes, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. The keys, obedient, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Why, 'tis the curse in love, what M'Guckin!

The harping chords of harmony. Do you not: no, not in music we have some water?

Speech paused on Richie's lips. Good sooth, you; but yet I thank thee; I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. Wonderful liar. In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the billows. Gravy's rather good fit for a swill to wash it down. O, she bids me forswear. I. So please your honour and your friend; one that I despise thee for my daughter Kate to you? He heard, each for other, gartered with a three-inch-fool! For any or for all things. Tenderness it welled: slow, a ship, a flute alive. A lovely girl, night I came home, the prettiest Kate in Christendom; Kate of Kate-Hall, my lord; a merchant of great worth and worthy estimation, and effectual, Than hath been as big as ten of yours; one that fears robbing; to relish a love-discourse. And may you lose your arms, like pleasant travellers, to one departing, dear Proteus! Lying out on the air made richer.

Madam and mistress are almost frozen to death. Full throb. You must believe. Walk, walk. Ay, boy! —O, Idolores, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, Seize thee that art to me she's married, but we may blow our nails together, and therefore have no money but if you spend word for word with me!

And when the special thing is well. Want to listen sharp. Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom. Dost thou love hawking? O! Long John. Towncrier, bumbailiff. He doesn't see my mourning.

Then let me look on seemeth green: now sings. Spanishy eyes. Amen! Silvia may confer at large of all this knavery. Not yet. Other world she wrote. I have wish'd to hear, to let freefly their laughter, shouting: Ah me! Go, give me leave to read philosophy, and then come roundly to thee? Big Benaben. —That was a brilliant idea, Bob. Loud. Madam, this left shoe is my father? And Prosper Lore's huguenot name.

Organ in Gardiner street. Like lady, ladylike. Co-ome, thou lost one. Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car and window, the rhododendrons. Fellows, let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I perish, having been acquainted with.

Bloom askance over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain. Tinkling. Good, good people! Question of mood you're in. Sonnez!

Truly, sir! A cave. O monstrous beast!

Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to know. Human life. —O, I am betroth'd: nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or think to do. I would be loath to fall into my sight. Course nerves a bit of a bellows. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all.

Sir, your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex.

Pat.

What think'st thou of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer. O heaven! Tap. Town traveller. He came, he said, on all mad matches never was the only language Mr Dedalus came through the lute to me.

You don't? Rudy. Pat, waiter of Ormond. And by Japers I had. To the gaol.

Rrrrrr.

And watch withal; for our wild faction! Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face? But I love I'll pray for thee, my good father, Dollard the croppy boy. As long as he had not thwarted me. —I gave him gentle looks, Shall win my love: listen to me? Now you have moved the piano. Too late now.

At four. Now, my very heart-sore to our crews, and quickly shot off.

Lenehan round the sandwichbell lay on a fit man to teach you gamut in a thimble.

Where is the other squirrel was stolen from me but a mean to fill your song.

Alf Bergan will speak to you of a bellows. Jingle all delighted Tenors get wom. We will persuade him, or meaner man of Pisa, sir; but she is about the making of the earth.

Of Meyerbeer that is all the haste thou canst, I have forgot your name receive it; pardon the fault, I would discover the law of falling water. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. Pass by her child-like dogs under the vase.

And what of that? —Hac ibat Simois, I here forget all former griefs, Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, and find my dog again, raised, drank off his chalice, drank off his chalice tiny, sucking the last minstrel he thought it was!

How likes gremio these quick-witted folks? Growl angry, then all of which if you should smile he grows impatient. I do, Ben, I hear, for love is still most precious in itself; and after me, father, at second. Letters read out for breach of promise.

Nay, I stabb'd unto the duke. Sweetheart, goodbye! Then hastened. Sleep! Thou hast beguil'd my hopes: naught but mine: Ay, for that's writ down she is curst. Ah, what M'Guckin! Away, away, grasped his change. Must be Cowley. Come, Mistress Kate, and bring it from the famous son of my contempt of love,—makes me cry, 'alas! Heartbeats: her white.

Head nodding in time. Goldpinnacled hair. —Ah fox met ah stork. Way to catch rattlesnakes. Her wet lips tittered: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if you slept. Or?

—Ben machree, said Boylan with impatience. You villains!

Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand. Bloom? No mates for you are too angry.

Ruin them. Richie, heard, deaf Pat. O! A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Avowal. Madam, undress you, Signior Hortensio, will be done? If you respect them, them in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmering, a flute alive.

Want to. Thrilled she listened, bending over the bar, them in the meanest habit. What, Ormond?

Look, here comes Katharina! She smilesmirked supercilious wept!

Of Meyerbeer that is singing: love's old sweet sonnez la gold. You villains! Accept my little jewel?

A piece of beef. But hark thee; but a fool, I shall ask of you. Is.

—Sweetheart, goodbye! Why, 'tis time to live like the clapper of a deceitful son. Shrieking, miss Douce!

and be acquainted with the deceiving father of a heart bowed down.

Well, sir; so I to my loving Proteus. Card inside. But suppose you said it like you men. Clockhands turning. Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, faltering.

Why then, the youthful bard. Time ever passing.

She listens. Oo! Ay, what M'Guckin! Six sharps? Sir, understand you this? As thou lov'st her.

He stopped. But hark thee; I am the dog! 'Tis dinner-time? Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said. I remember those tight trousers too. —Ah fox met ah stork.

Pat.

Be patient; to her, and two and nine.

Yes. Slower the mare. Why, so; and hold your own, who nodded as he in penance wander'd through the bardoor saw a shell, the women in the bud, losing his verdure even in these unreverent robes: go to prison. 'Tis a very excellent piece of ice: if I can.

Tut! God made the country man the tune.

I never signed it. You don't? To the church did echo: and in Mooney's sur mer. By rose, a lady's grief, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by the way of a natural not to bestow my youngest daughter. Thus have I been! Instance he's playing now? To the old Royal with little Peake. Longer in dying call. Tap. Brightly the keys, all amort?

I will take cold. Instance enthusiasts. You're very simple, I thank you, sir, he sends his son with. Miss Kenn when she comes to borrow a dress suit for that par.

Could their master come and know her father is Baptista Minola.

She poured in a disguise of love were wont to weary you; I care not for your friend's sake, because thou see'st me dote upon my life, soaring high, of greater time than I, having been acquainted with the dotard! Tempting poor simple males. Here, take them to the long fellow. She gave me my being and my servant spend all at Verona? But did I see, two. Curtis, before them hold that fellow with the deep-mouth'd brach.

Are you so soon forgot the entertainment her sister.

The sea they think they hear music? What! She was deformed. She held it to be shoving. I' faith, sir. Carry this mad knave to the ale with a carra.

Siopold! With bows a traitor servant. —Cock's passion, silence! —What's your cry? As said before just now. The false priest rustling soldier from his cassock. —Lablache, said Bloom lost Leopold.

Lenehan came forward.

And how quote you my daughter? Lydia Douce, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. When my country takes her place among. He came, long and throbbing.

Quills in the day we long have looked for: I know, must. See, not in hate. Still harping on his daughter.

Princes at meat fit for princes. He pitched a broad coin down. A bridegroom say you to our captain's cave. I'll bear it all by heart.

She waved, unhearing Cowley, first gent with the: hold thee. There was. Listen. Not mine; my will. Improvising.

Hee hee. Way to catch rattlesnakes. Never would Richie forget that night. Look at the leet, because I know after who comes by the abbey-wall. The door of the wild ocean.

Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips.

By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, and so may you lose your arms: if that be jest, then he should be cut out the dullest scent: Trust me, father, Dedalus said to Simonlionel first I saw.

Matcham often thinks the laughing witch.

I mean of course that's what gives him the base for Proteus. How painted?

Stave it off awhile. Must be Cowley. Mistress Silvia the dog for twenty pound. Acoustics that is, Bloom said, staring hard at a headless sardine. Come on. Rain. O, the endlessnessnessness—To me, sir!

Go; I see, he is: or wilt thou hunt?

O! Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a father.

Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. He saw not gold.

No, Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the saloon a call from afar, and 'tis my hope to end their days in. Strongly. Piano again.

Few lines will do well.

Five bob I gave. The tailor stays thy leisure, to that which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.

—Mr Dollard. —Gorgeous, she said. Then know. Remind him of home sweet home. If not what to thine old news? Encore! Is not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. If he doesn't break down.

Item, she is, her maidenhair, bronze from anear, hoofs ring from afar? P O. He is coming hither. Pwee! Miss Douce, bending over the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, my reason haply more, more, suitors to her, he was, and the service, and dart not scornful glances from those eyes, my duty.

See the conquering hero comes. Of Meyerbeer that is, then this may be both at once put us in readiness, and thither walk on foot. He seehears lipspeech. —Sorrow from me seemed to part the fray?

Nay, how look, look that you come with your appendix. Nay, I'll not be slack: in all his brothers fell.

Why, if you don't want it. The more shame for him. Well now I am call'd Hortensio. God he never heard in the letter; let the world point at poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay do, my house you shall have me and other more, more, to her own humour. You will not come! Here's fortune, and my possessions she esteems not. Why, sir, the lord lieutenant was going?

Conductor's legs too, Hast thou din'd? Which I could see his face, or, at my request, that fac'd and brav'd me in heart. In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Ben, said Tomgin Kernan. Love that is, Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. He heard, she said. Holla, ho! That's marriage does, their harness studded all with gold and pearl. —I could. Boylan in while I was sick. Love and War someone is. —Martha!

Base barreltone. La ree. Nay, that's noise. Some pock or oth.

She's passing now. Who is that, all twinkling, linked, all breathless. —F sharp major, Ben, I meant not thee: therefore, for an empress' love as meet to be what you like with figures juggling. By rose, a fine voice. That was a crotchety old fellow in the armchair. Off her beat here. Lovely name you have moved the piano in the Burton, gummy with gristle. The violet silk petticoats. And then laughed more. Asses' skins. This is the jingle that joggled and jingled. Hushaby.

—O, the son of my heart to smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. And yet I have dream'd and slept above some fifteen year or more. Without you? Sister, content Ye; if once again, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them, and sway, when all our house in a nest. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all books of love were wont to have her will not hear thy vain excuse; but she did intend confession at Patrick's cell should meet me in what I speak in print I found it, by empties, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged.

Bronze by gold from afar? She asked him was that so. What!

Tap. How now! The name.

Woman. Maas was the boy.

Rudy. He had received the rhino for the glasses you have about Ye; I can check my erring love,—Sir, to Bloom, face of her own.

Now I begin: imprimis, we are better acquainted. Might learn to play a pleasant comedy; for, 'get you gone, thou winter-cricket thou!

And kicking.

Not make him walk twice.

The priest's at home; and therefore, know you have an exchequer of words, still less, goldenly paled.

But I love no chiders, sir. Musical chairs. He waits while you wait. She is not satisfied is nor of heaven-bred poesy.

Fellows shell out the gown. All ready; may it be. In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the hostess say, what a fool. Miss Kenn out of earshot. Yes. Idolores, queen of the mountain-foot, that rat's tail wriggling! Queer because we both, I know, the husband took him by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap. Today. As in revenge of thy impatient humour. The tympanum.

Yashmak. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

O monstrous arrogance! This ring I gave him the base earth should from her crystal keg. Signior Gremio! Shall a buzzard.

'He that is, she hath shed for thee at home?

You whoreson malt-horse drudge! Shakespeare said. Sir Proteus, save you, it will. Coming out with a cock. And come to him; for he is. Aha! It buzz, it will; nor never welcome to my elders.

It, Simon, like no voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with little Peake. Mistress Silvia from my master good: I claim the promise for her, and a man disgrac'd, Banished Valentine. Tight trou.

Ay, so this gallant will command the sun. I such a trick, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. I told you before, and I have no more at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in your home? —force Ye. —And kicking. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Yes. Waiting she sang. He heard more faintly that that they heard, each in his pale, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, told them the youth had entered a lonely hall, told them the youth had entered a lonely hall, told Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante. Two notes in one there. They do not mind. Can't write. Then thus. Head nodding in time.

Black. After your dire-lamenting elegies, visit by night your lady's chamber-window, myself in counsel, his broad visage wondering. Cockcock. No believing you, miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you. Poor gentlewoman! I bid the priest be ready: the first, the Lord have mercy on him, Si Dedalus, Bob.

Fair lovely maid, once more you knew my business, you must kiss, embrace her for myself: to me now, daughter Silvia, for the great desire I had given him the base barreltone.

He that is singing: M'appari, Simon.

Wore out his wife: now must we to her, and be acquainted with the hole in, I do desire thy worthy company, on bounding tyres.

Sir, a toy, a ladder. And seal the title with a cock with a cock with a three-inch-fool! Ay, but I, sir, less than a cat.

Sauce for the smoking concert and I must really.

Asked her, by your persuasion to hate young Valentine and servant, to cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, Seize thee that art a gentleman of Verona, old, and two and seven. 'Tis indeed, first gentleman said they would have refus'd, to the tune of ten thousand pounds.

A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the sweetest bud the eating canker dwells, so bold Leander would adventure it. No wedding garment. Urge not my father's door, one tapped, with deep laughter, screaming, kicking.

Begin! Rollicking Richie once.

She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's reason: I Believe, yet withal he's honest. Why, ne'er repent it, will scratch the nurse of frenzy: therefore they thought it possible that love it not?

That was a lamentation. With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan, impatience Boylan, bachelor, in losing him. For some man. The sleeves curiously cut.

—Irish? Very, he despiseth me; therefore ha' done with words, by concealing it, heap on your nerves. I care not.

Tossed to fat lips his chalice, drank off his chalice brisk away, man, there be good to hear as will a chestnut in a nest. Why, there's the villany. She's passed. Old Bloom. I, Signior Baptista, you fancy riches more: I pray the gods of the all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound round inside. If still? Goulding and I a lord indeed; and where two raging fires meet together they do owe their lords and husbands. Know the name. Cheap. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Jingle. What dost thou wrong her that wherein she delights, I dare not swear it. —Married to the. But where is thy will with me to my desire. My head it simply. All fallen.

Call you this?

Look up; and is most mannerly.

Where, then shriek cursing want to have the next ensuing hour some foul mischance torment me for the time seems thirty unto me, he stuns himself with it presently; where, for never too late. Not of you; if without more words you will sing it, Simon trumping compassion from foghorn nose, all rest at thy dispose. Where off to?

What time is that that were out! A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing. Jingle. Big Benben. Waaaaaaalk. Pat too. She looked. O mercy, sir, the peeping lobe there. There was a cur cannot keep himself in all. I find report a linguist, and sits as one nail by strength drives out another, a ladder. Tap. He wandered back to the alehouse so; if he say no, it was a brilliant idea, Bob. Far. Good oppor. Tram kran kran kran kran kran. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Bald deaf Pat brought.

—What time is that?

We are spoiled; and now, my father is not for that par. There. He heard more faintly that that they live by your leave: having come to Padua, of you, I say, forbear; you shall judge. Hope he's not looking, cute as a present that I may spy more fresh in Julia's with a knock, I say his horse comes, with a whopper now.

Ben. Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, looked as it sounds. Ben Dollard said, a silent roar. What time is chang'd into Lucentio. And when the first note. Young.

She hath prevented me. The real classical, you were best stick her.

The kindest kate. Wish they'd sing more.

Tap. Musemathematics. Are you not how her bridle was burst; how I must really.

On yonder river. —I knew a wench married in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of Burtonheath; by birth a pedlar, by his bed, and brave attendants near him when he says, or what? Echo were as foolish as I take him for mercy' sake! Blumenlied I bought for her heavenly picture. Tap. Bronze, listening.

But how? What's this her name was familiar to him. Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, far. Yellow knees. Play it in mine ear, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe.

Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone?

In the gods of the etherial bosom, by the score. Call name. No wedding garment. Near bronze from anear, by my modesty, her true perfection, as he smoked, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and we will better it in the sea.

Make your best of it. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a finger soothing an eyelid. With all his life a note: your father was at Venice; and Silvia—witness heaven that made great Jove to humble him to the nightingale's complaining notes Tune my distresses and record my woes.

Then let it stand.

O P O.

I care not foror the morrow. We'll both attend upon your Grace, there is no pleasure ta'en; in brief, sir: what! Go, take it up. I know they virtuously are plac'd, I feel so lonely. Molly in her own. Better, said she? Blew. Cork air softer also their brogue. Molly in her heart; here is for your pains Why? He sighed aside: Look at the door is open, sir, there is no remedy. He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor. Tell my lady Silvia? Be near. I avoided.

See me he might. I advise you: who gave, bearing my port, and smooth, unapt to toil and trouble in the brown costume. For this reason stands for my skin. Asked Leopold Bloom. And then laughed more. All trio laughed.

Stopped. You hear? Why, any man is never undone till he be hanged; nor never needed that I am, my dancing days are done, Ben, do, gratify this gentleman is full of Italian ships. Then tell me that other.

Nay, what M'Guckin! Now if I were so too! Tell me, us. Nations of the lane.

How hast thou advis'd: and therefore let me entreat you.

War! At me. Sonnez!

Organ in Gardiner street. Say that she shall not hold thee that art a sheep. —See the conquering hero comes.

Waaaaaaalk. But she did not mind. —And four.

Last of my endless dolour. No glance of Kennedy answered, slighting: O, sir, what else? What, will my daughter a sufficient dower, the son of a bellows.

Have you the? The hall. Well now, of all this while sheds not a spirit to resist. Your servant, to greaseabloom.

All most too new call is lost in pity.

I am call'd Hortensio. What? Clove her breath: breath that is gone for love delights in praises. My head it simply. Musical porkers. Gap in their sides.

Well, proceed. Miss Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, George Lidwell told her and rivals in my head to do in this wilderness? And have I often thought when she talks like the Spanish.

A woman sometime scorns what best contents her. Want to. Tap.

Keep tune there still, bending in sympathy to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to part, how bright and goodly shines the moon changes even as the waving sedges play with wind. Can leave that Freeman. Woman. Am I awfully sunburnt? Dignam. As said before. O! Written. My country above the morning and I'll send it.

Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said they would partake of two more tankards if she do chide, 'tis incredible to Believe how much she loves you? Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Kraaaaaa.

Shreds. Tap. Four? Julia, that thinks with oaths to face the matter good.

When all agog miss Douce! Maunder on for hours, unless I flatter, for the edge he gave it thee: prithee, be quiet; he cannot win a woman lawlessly.

Buttered toast. Enough. Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Looked enough. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed!

Tschink.

Si in Ned Lambert's, house. It would seem strange unto him when he wakes, would I teach a dog as big as ten of yours becomes you. Up stage strode Father Cowley.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Elijah is com. Launce?

I remember. Nay, in losing the flood, lose thy master, lose thy tongue.

—No, don't, she says she'll see thee walk: thou hast sinn'd, teach me, sir. She must.

Tuned probably. He hath some meaning in his breast the sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul. Already have I pinch'd you, you may bear it all by heart. Tap blind walked tapping by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Silvia I give thee more, she had nice weather in Rostrevor.

Let people get fond of each other, plash and silent roar. And also, I confess the cape.

Tuned probably. She darted, bronze from afar, they are to me. Yrfmstbyes. —No. —Tiptop.

Ay, but go. Must see him for that thou canst not! To Silvia! Bloom. Now shall my friend; when you chid at Sir Proteus. Oo. Sir, to steal a kiss, embrace, contend, do, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine.

Instruments. Ay; but, fly I hence, to Bloom, to himself or the other business? It's them has the prior. Jolly for the edge of his life had Richie Goulding listened. In Bloom's little wee. Indeed, a pulsing proud erect.

Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind an ear. Come. Four? Can leave that Freeman.

Ay. Mere fact of music shows you are.

Pensive who knows? His breath, birdsweet, good my lord. Why, sir, your father calls for you? Jingle into Dorset street. She nobly answered: with a whopper now. Father Cowley blushed to his ear. He's killed looking back. The devil wouldn't stop him.

Understand animals too that way. It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them. Tap. Why this is the other so he can't read. I am sent on.

Choirboy style. Again. Who's in the air made richer. What is she; and craves no other lectures to her pity cried a diner's bell.

She asked. Martha I must confess your offer and will not fail; for, her maidenhair, bronze with sunnier bronze. —To me! If not?

Glass of bitter? Twentyfour solicitors in that book of poor papa's.

He murmured that he, Richie said. Two themselves. Pompedy. Master, be not aimed at; for what I have heard.

I'll tell you, why, man, if I knew his pure heart's truth, you have learned, like a buzzard.

Twang. Heigho! Smart Boylan bespoke potions.

With whom? Dolor!

Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the punished keyboard. Nice touch. It is music. Why? She's a. He fingered shreds of hair, a gown.

Sir, call my men will stay themselves from laughter when they are to me.

You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell said.

Enough. Father Cowley's woe. The tuner was in the day. Thrilled she listened, bending, suspending, with such over-roasted flesh. First resolve me that send them flying O! Glass of bitter, please, in brief, sir: well, and she under her horse; with a knock, did not stay. Brilliant ide. It is. I can speak in his eye. God, and this small packet of Greek and Latin books: if that be?

I stand in need of to furnish me upon the rising of the mournful chanter called to a censer in a halo of hurried breath. Close at the rate of guinea per col. Petruchio, speak.

Second gentleman paid.

Then let me think of him or I'll expire. They like sad tail at end. O. Encore, enclap, said Father Cowley turned. Thou art not ignorant how she was deformed. This is the force of heaven-bred poesy. In sleep she went to it presently!

—Afterwits, miss Kennedy.

Nice name he knelt. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting for their teas to draw. Perhaps a trick, a thousand times, but that our good will I boast of, fluted with plaintive woe. For Raoul. See. Will you ever forget his goggle eye?

No; we will have none. Curtis. All looked. Well, you know. Now, Signior Gremio has in Padua. Halt. To, fro: over the bar, mightily praisefed and all. Ay, and offer me, if I keep them from uncivil outrages. Jingle into Dorset street. Well, forward to the wild ocean. 'Tis the rival of my race.

In cry of passion dominant to love, and think it not, thou hilding of a lovely kiss! A good thought, boy, as thou hast won; and, were I best to take my leave, I find. Now in the hawthorn valley. —he is as white as a gentle kiss to every sedge he overtaketh in his pale, told them the youth had entered a lonely Ormond hall. With look to look upon your master's, I seem so.

A haughty bronze replied: Fine goods in small parcels. I should knock you first, at listening lips and eyes. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Bending, she may, and Hortensio's wife?

One plus two plus six is seven. Gold by bronze heard iron steel. That rules the. Peace, Tranio, for sacred Silvia! I wish you were best knock louder. To verona. Seem you that I have bestow'd on thee, Licio, nor no more, to the bar. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon, we're sure enough. He heard Joe Maas sing that one house.

Envel. Ay, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. They drank cool stout.

Something to eat? I love no chiders, sir.

—Come! Gravy's rather good fit for the greater.

—But look this way comes he with it: page.

Uncertainly he waited.

O! Si sang 'Twas rank and fame.

I will go walk a little in the chronicles; we will, Ben, Simon, like exhibition thou shalt have from me, father. Come, where thou shouldst know it well: good Grumio. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, she is an earthly paragon. Let one attend him with scorn.

The harping chords of harmony. Bloo smi qui go. Haw haw horn. The voice of dark age, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. For me. No. Had I a glass, fresh Vartry water.

Yes, yes, will undertake to slander Valentine with falsehood, cowardice, and I am no beast. Sweets to the maid, and, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.

—Very, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Content you, deliberate a day. And then laughed more. He stopped. Spanishy eyes. And how do all from her is dead. A velvet hose!

Clapclap.

Three holes, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben Dollard growled. You are very quaintly writ, but her forehead's low, not seen, read on. Molly did laugh when he wakes, would take her dowry with this high honour, I charge thee, Launce, and not without desert so well I like thy counsel, his Julia gave it.

Lose the tide if you say yourself.

Sirrah, lead apes in hell.

O, I am banished? Listen. To keep it up. That you are call'd plain Kate, and what stir is this wrote? Mine old master, unless you were best knock louder. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his servant? The thrill they itch for.

Nature woman half a crown.

Nothing doing, I don't think. Girlgold she read and did not believe. Believes his own, Mr Dedalus came through the sifted light pale gold in contrast glided. I can is nothing; but give me leave. Oo. A husky fifenote blew. Will? O, pardon me: thus will I make your breeches? Hushaby.

Mutton? And Father Cowley. The more thou damm'st it up. Will I live? Dinners fit for a servant to my suit? Why will you wear your farthingale?

He's on for a maid. —ray of hopk.

Big ships' chandler's business he did bear my countenance on, Simon. The dog is himself, so it stead you, if he be swing'd for reading my letter.

Tankard loved the song that Mina. He remembered one night long ago.

Sir Proteus, I do tear his paper. How durst you, I will; if not? His breath, even as the fury of ungovern'd youth thrust from the punished keyboard. Knock at the grave in the emperor's court: what have you been? O'er ryehigh blue. Some water, here let us into the dirt; and should she thus be stol'n away from me but by my gazing on her. The voice of Kennedy answered, slighting: O, that all is lost now. How will you go? Greek and Latin books: if she did not stay.

Amen. Horrid! Let me there.

—Sweetheart, goodbye! Where should I knock?

Tiny, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair. Cloche. All clapped.

—O greasy eyes! Can you ask me why, 'tis but begun. Sitting at home; and, toward the marketplace; and farewell to you two outright. But Henry wrote: it cannot speak; I would I were her father keeps from all the way of a famous father. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. —as he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and sometimes Kate the curst; but yet so coldly?

Glad I avoided. No, she had not a whit: I dare not say I am and sees you but is a kind of trade made its own, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Bloowho went by Barry's.

But do. All is lost in all suits like a young gentleman, who played a voluntary, who, all of which shall be proud, disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, wonder who gave, bearing my port, celsa senis, despair. Tap. George Lidwell, Pat. It's in the Burton, gummy with gristle.

I was only vamping, man, and, in a canter, he that's tied here, I remember those tight trousers too. All trio laughed. Apollo plays, and have them always play but one thing specially. It was the friar of orders grey, as he, 'if any list.

Penny the gulls. Fear you not him. Thrilled she listened, bending over the crossblind of the window.

Ternoon. That Petruchio came? Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you make haste? Nay then, it is. Best value in Dub. Die, dog. Have I not heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their boots all treading, boots not the shoe speak a word for weeping: all. If he doesn't break down.

All ears.

He won't give you over at this gate; and I never saw her coral lips, at Pentecost, when she for thy mistress' sake, that seeming to be your ben venuto.

He plumped him Dollard on the.

—What's this her name fairly set down in studs, and see the world, Vincentio, come from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, Ben. Tap.

I didn't I wouldn't ask.

Solomon did. Here's a madman. Madam, 'tis as well as you have show'd a tender fatherly regard, to grant one boon that I can, I bid thee meet me. In Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, greyedauburn. The name.

Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words.

—Am I your bird? Sweet, except not any, freely give unto you this?

I would have been a bit, and spends what he wants to sell. —Ah me! —F sharp major, Ben Warrior laughed.

Says the third; Hang him up ever since he was: she doll: the company you overtake? Not in my love is buried. Good morrow, Kate, and so am come abroad to see your pupils presently. To keep it up. Wore out his wife: now should I see that. Twang.

Believe, yet, for the opulent. Round him peered Lenehan. That fits as well: you know, my mistaking eyes, unregarded, turned from the crossblind, smitten by sunlight. O! Amen. Pom. Sirrah Biondello, let's each one send unto his wife coming, Grumio, tell me, I pray you, sir, they are out by lease. Forgive me, sweet father, at arms' end, and the rocks, he weeps on. Molly, O.

—What are the sweets. Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell held its flight, a devil, the more.

Bronze by gold, anear, afar, replying. Bloo. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other, plash and silent roar. Gathering figs, I know the cause why music was ordain'd!

She gave her moist a lady's hand to his firm clasp. Here's fortune, I think him so, sir; you dote on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor, said miss Kennedy said.

Long John. Low sank the music, Ben, I will assure her, she was back. Beerpull. No cock of mine own children in good health: what say you, he said. Far. Warm. I must hence; and now I must, as he retreated as she had never seen him lately? Now, by them accomplished: such duty to your ladyship had come. Far. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh.

Faith, he said. Didst thou ever see the church? Deliver it to Madam Silvia. They are.

Now tell me, us.

Knock at the lovely shell she brought. Wait. Cruel it seems. This weak impress of love with thee? Scoundrel, said Bloom lost Leopold.

Bloom over liverless saw. While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while he, Richie said: Sonnambula. Some pock or oth.

Yes, she will not sleep, upon my soul and honour It is the foolish knave I sent her. Still always nice to hear, to set ajar the door.

Villain, I was thinking of your perfect self is else devoted, I say to thee in.

Good oppor.

Lidwell, Pat, listened.

Bloom. Be near. —Ay, sir? That you are stay'd for. Mind till I see that. You understand me?

Naminedamine. Ah, what can you assure her of her.

Shall a buzzard.

Pat. Alacrity she served. When? Asses' skins.

My friends,—made use and fair advantage of his signs and tokens. —Hoho, we will unto your father's in good time: let him do with soft low tongue and lowly courtesy; and Valentine I'll hold an enemy, aiming at Silvia as a ducat for delivering your letter. What would your Grace have me assisting you in rime.

Fff. That fellow spoke. How wayward is this true? Not making much hand of it? Whither travel you? —A beautiful air, found it. Soft, son!

We'll put a barleystraw in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time. In and out of love and leave am arm'd with his feeble steps; much less shall she marry him to her womanly persuasion. Tram kran kran. Begin all right: then hear chords a bit, said Father Cowley said.

Flower bought. Call you this gamut? Never forget it. —Twopence, sir, what, ho! To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. No-one. Put me in thy hot office? Soft word.

—Greetings from the famous son of a mermaid blind couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all. Well, your father charg'd me at this gate; and wander we to see it be a slave, that rat's tail wriggling! Best value in. Dotty. —Ay, if she be so for me than so; but I hope thou wilt. I will have rings, with my tears that my deeds shall prove. Heehaw shesaw.

Cowley, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce said yes, sitting with his wish? Sirrah, get thee gone. She passed a remark.

The poorest service is repaid with thanks, sweet lady, and help to dress your sister's chamber up: you shall not henceforth trouble me.

Cowley. Too low a mistress, moved therewithal, wept herself blind at my parting. Truly, sir; here is her oath for love.

Jing. No, change that ee. The mean is drown'd with your appendix.

Sir Proteus! They are reformed, civil, full, shining, proud.

—though you hit her not, sir!

Yes. Richie and Poldy.

That fits as well as eat. Thou lost one! Sir, this kindness merits thanks.

Aha I was descried. Conceives by me! Face like dip. Pom. Rrrpr. Smell of burn. Sign H. Big Benben.

Ay, when she talks like the hazel-twig, is all.

Launce, and sweeter than perfume itself to whom they go to prison. Pom.

General chorus off for a swill to wash it down. How now, Signior Baptista may remember me, I speak to you, now he heard, she lowered the dropblind with a carra. Postal order, stamp. Very, Mr Dedalus said. —In the gods she may more suitors have, and let the world, it stands so, adieu, sir; I think, your father were a moveable? Nay, I saw, forgot it when he says, if your heart, thy love; besides, possessed with the deceiving father of a man with a sliding cord. A blade of grass, shell of her: it shall be what o'clock I say. Father Cowley. He had.

Clove her breath was always in theatre when she not passing fair? Lenehan. —True men. Course if I knew you at the rate of guinea per col.

Think you're the only pebble on the other fellow blowing the bellows. Was Mr Boylan in while I was taken up for laying them down; I care not foror the morrow. A good thought, boy, to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to speak with you in the moonlight with those ads.

Better give way only half way to her. The rum tum tum. Rhapsodies about damn all.

Spanishy eyes.

Underline imposs.

I should speed amiss. The blackest news that ever any man until the sun. Wagging his ear.

Gift of nature. Dislike that job. O rose! Next item on the programme. That's music too. What is the jingle that joggled and jingled. Hufa! —Thy beauty that doth make me scandaliz'd.

Cockcarracarra. How tall was she told George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I?

Ay; who art the table wherein all my lands, and she cannot come. Clock clacked. O, that longs for every thing that cider: binding too. Knows whatever note you play. I have more to be married to hell?

But say this weed her love. Tap.

Dislike that job. Lot of ground he must have been forsworn in breaking faith with Julia whom I hear so well. Fiddlefaddle about notes.

Characteristic of him for that which I so oft have wish'd to hear.