#where are the fingers sharpened to points in some unholy claw

[mercless]

the nose shape... 🥰

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

OC-tober Day 18: Vintage

I’m about two weeks early, but @cobaltash is doing a nifty little event for @oc-growth-and-development‘s Oc-tober prompt list, and I figured I’d go ahead and get my entry out in the universe. 

In one of the last sessions we did with my Wednesday game, the would-be worldsavers traveled into the Underdark to find out what happened to the entire population of our cleric’s aerie. Zephyr has the distinction of being the only one in our group without dark vision, so Mira cast Light on a bottle of wine that she had stolen from the aerie. And, unfortunately, Zephyr is a monk.

~1000 words, set during the trials and tribulations of The Tea Party Trio.

------

Zephyr couldn't see much by the strange, glassy light of the glowing wine bottle in her hand, but she could still make out matted fur and sharpened teeth and the searing red eyes of something that wanted her dead, and really, what more did she need to know?

She staggered back as a clawed hand the size of her head shot out of the gloom and bit into the rock wall on her left. The tiny ring of light given off by her sloshing torch made it impossible to see the full scope of the creature assaulting her, but it had reached across the entire width of the cave without putting so much as the tip of its gnarled black snout into the glow and that painted a picture enough. She swore under her breath and scrambled back another few feet. Zephyr thrived in a melee, sure, but her opponents were usually somewhere around half that size, only moderately armed, and - if she had her way - stumbling around blind drunk. Big, snarling, hairy beasts with teeth as long as her fingers were better suited for someone who could set them on fire from a full city block away.

She stole a glance over her shoulder towards where she’d last seen Fàilbhe, and caught the tip of his staff disappearing into the darkness as he backed further out of sight. She swore again, louder, and spun to face a tunnel that she’d seen Mira sprinting for. Clerics could send unholy abominations like this one fleeing on command, couldn’t they? What use were they otherwise? Besides, she had sworn that she’d seen Mira tangling with a couple of drow a second ago, and they were more the moderately armed sort, with senses that Zephyr could baffle and faces at fist-catching height. If she could beg a trade - 

Something moved on her right before she could chance a look, and Zephyr had just enough good sense to still be waiting for it. She threw herself to one side as the beast surged past, swinging out with one claw, then another, then another.

Four fucking arms. 

Zephyr caught herself against the cave wall, seething. Of course she would be the one tangling with some mad science experiment gone wrong! Failbhe got to play trebuchet from the back while Mira toyed with some common foot soldiers, but Zephyr had to manage the swollen, four-armed drow monstrosity that looked like it pulled the legs off of spiders for fun. She turned just in time to see it wheel back towards her, a wavering silhouette of coarse white fur and bulging muscle that filled the width of the cavern. Its eyes snapped to the light of the bottle in her hand, and she watched with mounting dread as its snout pulled back into a wide, wolfish grin.

Oh, they were going to owe her much more than wine after this, glowing or otherwise.

Snarling, the beast lunged, its smaller arms clawing wildly at the air as Zephyr staggered out of the way. One of the heavy limbs grafted onto its shoulder flashed out with enough force to whip her hair into a storm, missing by mere inches as she ducked around it. In a real fight, she thought, she could dance circles around even something this big; hell, in a real fight, she could dance circles around anything. But a real fight required seeing, at least, or room enough to move, or an opponent that couldn’t clear five strides for every one of hers -

Something jolted hard against her waist, and Zephyr looked down just in time to see the enormous hand suddenly clutched around the tassels of her belt.

It yanked her backwards before she could think to scream. She scrabbled instinctively for the sword still clattering at her waist, but the creature’s other hand snapped around the offending arm in a vice grip as she collided with its palm, its claws digging points of brilliant pain into the flesh as it wrenched her around. The messy streaks of light and dark and rock walls suddenly became a vision of red eyes and inch-long teeth streaking towards her, snarling, vicious, triumphant -

And right at fist-catching height.

The beast’s jaw cracked at the same moment her bottle did, a wet pop mingling hideously with the sharp splinter of glass as wine and glowing shards exploded sideways across its snout. Zephyr reeled back as the grip on her arm vanished, watching in mingled fascination and horror as the creature howled and clutched at the stinging lines of blood. She hadn’t meant to break the bottle. Hell, she’d barely even meant to take a swing. She had been running on instinct, a flash-pan sort of panic that had moved her arm without quite asking for her mind’s permission. Her eyes drifted down to the scattering of silver glass that now lit the cavern floor from below, and then slowly back towards the neck of the bottle still clutched in her hand. Turned towards her on the label, surrounded now by thin hairline cracks, was a date.

Zephyr read it. Then she blinked and read it again, just to be sure.

The creature had just managed to claw the last of the glass from its eyes when Zephyr’s fist plunged into the fleshy skin of its throat. It wheezed in sudden, breathless agony, then took another blow across its jaw, which broke audibly in the opposite direction. 

“Do you see this?” Zephyr snarled as the beast stumbled backwards. “Do you see what you’ve done?”

It didn’t, clearly, so she whipped around and laid a bone-shattering kick into its bleeding face. It staggered against the wall with a dull thud, just managing to catch itself on one massive arm. Its lips curled back into a watery snarl as Zephyr stepped forward and thrust the remains of the still-dripping wine bottle in front of its swollen eyes.

“Look at this!” she hissed. “Do you see? Do you see that date, you hellish mongrel? You ruined a vintage!”

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc II: Watt Outta Hell (12)

Chapter 12: We Meet Underworld Justice. Meaty, Crispy Underworld Justice

           One of the nice things about the First Circle is that since it’s for lesser sinners, they don’t punish you nearly as bad as they would in some of the other places. Take the poles F-Bomb and I found ourselves tied to, for instance. They had adjustable seating and a massage option, which I eagerly took advantage of. Real nice, considering the hall of condemnation we now found ourselves in looked like every heavy metal album cover ever made. But the weirdest thing of all was it reminded me of church, somehow. The whole place was just a very long , dark, edgy hallway covered in stained (though with what, I never found out) glass windows with a pulpit at the very end. Raposa settled her rear into this pulpit, while F-Bomb and I were put down in front of it, a pair of sinners put down before the Lord. Behind us, rows upon rows of underworld denizens were crying for our blood in every tongue imaginable. Though if our punishment was church, I did have one advantage: Miss Princess couldn’t make this place duller than Father McAllister’s sermons if she tried (thanks to that guy, I know more about cubits then I will ever care -or need- to know).

           Unfortunately, it was special moments when the luck of the Tostigs tended to bail on me, and being tied to a stake in front of a pulpit, with a grape juice swilling devil princess looking into your soul was one of them.

Having sucked the last ounce of delicious liquid from her sippy pouch, she raised the thing as if to make a toast, somehow hushing up everyone in the hall.

“Alright losers, listen up! These horrible souls have committed one of the greatest sins of the zeroth circle: Parking in the handicapped space without actually being handicapped!”

Once more, the crowd booed us.

“But believe it or not, I’m feeling generous today, so I’m gonna let these NERDS pick their own poison!” She turned to us (though more to me, since F-Bomb was still moping over sailor Woon’s betrayal) “Listen, kid, you have two options, you can either have the usual punishment we give people like you-“

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Pulling out your bones, pulverizing them in a blender, and feeding them to the homeless as protein shakes.”

I don’t know what my expression was at the time, but whatever it was, it made the Hell Princess smirk, revealing her rows of serrated teeth.

“Or, you can get a surprise punishment, as suggested by our live studio audience!” She gestured to the crowd, who proceeded to roar with applause.

I turned to my friend, hoping for guidance.

F-Bomb sighed “Just go for the forkin’ surprise. Half those forkin’ ballots are usually just plain forkin’  ‘torture’ ‘cause nobody here knows how to be forkin’ origional, anyway.”

I nodded in agreement “Yeah. Surprise us.”

“In that case… Stensa, bring me the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS!!!!”

The crowd roared as really bad wedding music began playing, followed by a devil that looked like a very ugly, hairless dog sauntering down the aisle with a skull in its paws. At least, I assumed they were paws. They looked like they’d been sharpened until they were pointy hand-spikes. When he reached the pulpit, I saw the head of the skull had been hollowed out, its’ noggin filled with folded pieces of paper. Raposa reached into this fishing her hand around in a way that reminded me all too much of the times Grandpa took me to bingo night.

“And the punishment is…” The music mercifully stopped, replaced by a drumroll that made my heart race.  

Silence. Raposa squinted at the paper, trying to read it.

“W-Were-“

“Werebacon.” The creature that called itself Stensa replied “It says Werebacon. Sorry the handwriting’s bad, but it’s kinda hard to do when you’ve only got stumps.” He showed them off.

For a brief moment, the crowd was no longer on F-Bomb, now staring down the helpless little devil.

“Stensa,” Raposa called, gesturing with a finger “Come here please.”

Shaking, the pathetic dog-thing stepped up to the podium. “Yes, your Unholiness- accckkk!”

The crowd watched in awe as Raposa chocked the demon using only a single hand. Some even took out their cameras to commemorate the event (or just get a spot on ‘Underworld’s Funniest Home Videos’).

“Stensaaa…,” Raposa began, her voice sounding way too much like A-Hole for it to be anything good “What did I tell you about putting joke requests in the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS!!!???”

Stensa tried to eke out an answer, but by that point his eyes had rolled back so far I could see where they attached to the skull.

Then Raposa’s face changed. It became all sharp and pointed, like it was made of glass shards. Poor Larry was being shaken around like a rubber chicken in an earthquake. “You do not put joke answers in the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS! I THOUGHT we went over this already! Also, don’t call me ‘Your Unholiness’ my name is Raposa, you moron!”

With one final snap of what I assumed was Larry’s neck bones, the dread princess tossed his body to the floor so hard it cracked on the tiles. But you want to know what he really crazy part was? Larry got up again, head still dangling limply from his neck, like it was nothing, and said

“I was going to say it wasn’t a joke answer. Werebacon’s a real thing. Bacon bitten by werewolves, I think. They sell it at Wegmart for 2.99 a pound.”

“AND HOW WOULD I KNOW THIS IS TRUE?!” Demanded the Hell Princess.

Larry shrugged “It’s called going to Wegmart? Dumba$$.”

And that’s how we got a fifteen minute recess while Raposa went to check this stuff out. Since everyone went outside, taking bets on whether she would actually find the werebacon or not, that meant it was just F-Bomb and I in the hall. All was quiet, save for the soft rumbling of my stake, which I’d set to ‘massage’.

Then, out of nowhere “Well, now forkin’ what?”

I looked around to see where the voice had come from.

I shrugged, or tried to.  “Well, who knows, if those anime you’ve made me watch has taught me anything, maybe we’ll unlock some secret superpower to save our butts at the last minute.”

F-Bomb smiled a bit at that.

“Well, at least you’ve been learning, Watter-chan.”

“And as a matter of fact, I think I feel a new power coming in…NOW!”

A great force surged through me before coming out as a weak toot from my behind.

Just like that, F-Bomb got all sullen again.

“Whelp. We are FORKED.”

“But you can bet your toe claws we aren’t going down without a fight!”

.   .   .

As if on cue, in walked Raposa and her posse of subjects. In her hand she carried a reusable shopping bag made of flayed human skin.

“Hey guys, guess who just brought home the bacon?!”

“Uhh…you did?”

The Hell Princess smiled at me, flashing her serrated teeth. “If that was you trying to be funny, then you failed miserably and you should feel bad.” She took out the the demonic delicacy. “Now, prepare to DIE!”

“But we’re already-“

“It’s an expression, nerd! And just for that, prepare to ULTRA die!”

“What’s that even-“

“Turd,” F-Bomb hissed “please just shut the fork up for one forkin’ second. I’m not exactly in the mood to get SUPER MEGA ULTRA killed.”

           From there, Raposa and company wasted no time. With the press of a button the whole place rumbled, the ground beneath F-Bomb and I sinking lower and lower until we were stuck in the bottom of a funnel-like pit, kind of like the ones where Romans fed their prisoners to lions. On the rim of the pit, glareing down at us fierce, the crowd was going crazy, chanting “EAT THEM! EAT THEM! EAT THEM!” while punk rock with a lot of brass in it blared loud enough to make my ears explode. For some reason, this reminded me of the time my parents took me roller skating. Maybe it was the flashing strobe lights.

           Moments later Raposa stood on the edge of the pit, wearing a black and white referee shirt and carrying a microphone in one hand. “Hellspawn and gentledemons!” She clamored, her voice so loud even at the bottom of the lit I could hear it clearly. “Are you itching for a fight?”

She paused, just long enough for the crowd to holler their all too enthusiastic response.

“’Cause boy do we have about tonight! On the left side of the arena we have the dastardly duo, the irredeemable of irredeemables, Mr. WEENIE AND WEENIE HUT JR!”

Cue the crowd booing and throwing Dora the Explorer DVD box sets at our heads.

“And on the other side, the greatest breakfast meat in this underworld, this continent, I daresay even this universe… WEREBAAAACCCCOOOONNNNN!”

She threw it, still in the package, into the pit, where it hit the ground with a hearty SLAP!

The crowd, as expected, went so nuts they literally started turning into peanuts, which the other demons tore apart and began eating. Despite having not eaten in a few days, I wasn’t really jealous of them. If communion at church taught me anything, it was that drinking a guy’s blood and eating his flesh was a very overrated experience.

“Hey!” I screamed, trying to buy us time “C-couldn’t you at least cook it first? I don’t want to die by raw bacon!”

Amazingly, Raposa somehow heard me over everything else that was going on. “Oh, we’ll cook it alright… in unhallowed moonlight!”

           A disco ball the size of the Hell Princess’ ego was lowered into the arena, its’ sparling light nearly blinding me. Slowly, but them more quickly, I could see the bacon begin to change. Something on the inside pushed and shoved against its’ plastic prison, struggling to get out, like a bag of popcorn in the microwave. And if microwave popcorn has taught me anything, it’s that once the package explodes, things go downhill fast. (Then again, this was at a time when I thought you didn’t take popcorn bags out of the plastic before microwaving them.)

“Couldn’t you at least untie us?!” I pleaded, giving my best puppy dog eyes.

“Suck it, NERD!”

And wouldn’t you know it, that was it! You see, I’ve always been a twig my whole life, and with the competition and being cast in the woods and all, I didn’t exactly have the time to eat stuff. So all it took was one suck of my guts and I slipped out of my ropes. Followed up with a slash of the old toe claws,  F-Bomb was free, too. Meanwhile, the package had swollen  tall as I was and still the werebacon couldn’t escape.

“Oh, screw it!” Hollered Raposa. With one well-placed toss, a pair of the sharpest scissors I’ve ever seen sliced right through the plastic packaging, sticking in the Earth with a Tong! From there, the werebacon burst out, looking furry and crispy and horribly overcooked.

“So, uh, any ideas?” I asked F-Bomb.

“Well, we could always run for our lives.”

I shrugged. It was as good an idea as any.

[helviiryn]

On Scouting and Goblins

Scout, but try not to engage. A easy enough task, or at least it was a task that was meant to be easy. After Nimruil dropped Inithelian off somewhere near Daelin's Point, he took a moment to gather his surroundings and plot the best course of action ahead. Walking through the locals, he could catch whispering and idle chatter and gossip. Everyone's topic at hand? Naga. Great, was all the blood mage thought to himself. Fish people, just what I needed, Ini should have taken this place instead. Nimruil sighed to himself, adjusting the rapier at his side to tighten it's leather harness. The path most logical out of the fort, that is where he would go. However the path most logical, he would also quickly find was somewhat not the best; discovery of blockades and militia posted, and in the distance on the coast....Naga. He stopped clear before he even got to the exit of the fort and heaved a sigh. "Of course, why did I possibly think the roads would be clear. Oh no, fucking fish people just have to ruin my day." He grumbled audibly to himself, raising brows from the locals as he backtracked the way he came. Side areas, he would have to trudge around side areas, which judging by the local meant wading through farmlands and hills. Great.

A break in the wall from earlier bombardments with Naga harpoons, and a little jump down, and Nim slipped past the walls of the fort  to land on the outskirts. The first thing he did was check the perimeter near him, just to see if there were any nasties in the direct vicinity. He saw nothing, at least not to the naked eye. He had great eyesight....when it wasn't bright ass sunlight. Even with lenses in his mask he always had a harder time seeing in the daylight. Squinting up at the sun, hand shrouding over the eyes of his mask, Nim took stock of what direction he was in, and where he needed to go. North, he needed to go North...and there was North with just a little turn of his body. Hand gripping the hilt of his rapier, and off he went. Heels had to carefully pick through the rocky, grassy terrain of what was essentially coastal farmland as far as the eye can see. Nim's head was on a swivel, eyes darting from side to side, he didn't really want to be caught unaware by a Naga...or worse, one of their Sea Giants they allied with.

Nothing was really known of the location that Mac had given him, other than warnings of Naga, which he could clearly see on the horizon. Naga, Sea Giants and absolutely massive creatures in which resembled a eel that grew far too large for their own goods. Nim kept to the edges, cutting through the hills to end up on the coast near the little island he was tasked in observing, steering clear from the Naga entirely; let the locals handle that, it wasn't exactly his pressing problem in the moment. At a distance as he watched the island grow closer on the horizon, the man initially thought that his area might have actually been promising, but nothing would have prepared him for how fundamentally wrong he was.

It was the scent that hit him first, a scent he knew all too well from all of his time spent with Mordred. The heavy, cloying scent of oil clogging his keen senses, stuffing his nose. The air grew heavy with it the closer he approached the coast between shoreline and island, a scent that combined with the distinct tang of metal. Clanking, whirring, cogs and wheels echoing a racket along the water; heavy machines were heard first, and seen second once Nim had actually stepped foot on the beach. His jaw dropped. The waters were thick and viscous, blackened by oil slicking the very tops of once pristine salt waters. Plumes of smoke belched in the air from the machines dotted along the coast, sinking into the earth like his own fangs sunk into a bite.

Shouts off to his side shook him from his reverie, snapping his focus to the source of the disturbance. The crude language and slang of Goblins assaulted his ears, as several of the creatures themselves started sprinting for Nim. "*Shit," He swore to himself, and took off into a sprint further down the coastline, directed away from the distant fort. Sand kicked up by his heels, spraying behind him as he trudged through, but running in sand was gods awful and didn't exactly allow his full potential. Lungs burned and legs pounded, attention hyper focused ahead of him. That is, until a explosion abruptly rocketed at his side, sending shrapnel and heated sand flying all around the magi. He hissed, throwing his hands up to protect himself from the rain of debris, though some metal had tore through the softer bits of his armors to rip bloodied wounds dotted along his body. A quick glance threw over his shoulder to quick what was happening, and it was a glance just in time to see that several of the maybe eight or so Goblins had rocket launchers trained on him. Directing his attention away, even for a split second, while still running would prove hazardous for Nim, as his run had him barreling straight for a oil spill slicking up the sand ahead of him. Footing slipping from under him, lean body flailed into a slide akin to that of someone on a frozen lake without blades. His body tumbled forward, flipping and rolling through the sand to dirty himself with beach debris and thick stains of oil; making him look like the strangest abstract painting of sand, oil and blood.

Though fate almost seemed kind, in a ironic twist, it was his fall that saved his life as the three rockets shot at him went zooming straight over his head; barely just missing contact with him in a close degree that was not at all comfortable. The rockets shot ahead of him, exploding upon contact with the beach to send more waves of sand into the air and crash down in a messy heap. Dirty, pissed, and with something of a twisted ankle now, Nim grit his teeth in a lowly growl rumbling within his chest. The magi flipped himself from his stomach to his back, facing the oncoming Goblins still shouting at him in that horrid dialect of theirs. He smirked behind his expressionless, blood wept mask as both hands raised. One gloved tugged down, exposing the dark grey of his palm only for the width of his flesh to be sliced into by a sharpened silver thumb ring adorning him. A flash of sanguine, a aura of red and wide, wicked eyes glinted behind his mask with a cruel and unseen grin. The Goblins had no idea what as coming, had not clue, and had no way to prepare.

Both of Nim's hands rose towards the Goblins with that vibrant bloody glow twisting around long fingers, muttering incoherently under his breath with a reverb to his voice that sounded....wholly unnatural, wholly unholy. It wouldn't be quick, wouldn't even be noticeable at first by the Goblins, in fact they would be allowed to get closer and closer to Nim before they would start to really feel the start of their demise. It would start with a little heat, perhaps they were just running too hard, or the fuses of their rockets a little too potent. Then came the sweats and the sluggishness, slowing their run down from stubby little legs moving frantically to stumbling about. Then would come the confusion, the delirium as the heat rose steadily within their body. A fever, but not just any fever, a fever controlled by the twisting of blood manipulation. Slower, slower, hotter, hotter....the Goblins were forced into a complete halt nearly at Nim's feet. They panted and yelped, clawing at themselves as if to dig into a unseen itch....or to open their veins and vent the heat building within them. A little fever would become a liquid wildfire running through their bodies. Green skin started to physically bubble as the blood in their very bodies turned against them and *boiled* like a pot left too long on the burner. Screams of agony, and then the dull thud of collapsing corpses, and the Goblins which sought to end Nim, were snuffed out. 

Satisfied by his magic's work, Nim smoothly brought himself to a stand, brushing his hands along his armors to flake off excess sand. A deep scowl was brought to his face, however, when he looked at the state of himself. New armors tattered by shrapnel, pieces of metal still sticking out of his skin, and oil smudged absolutely everywhere. He was going to need to bring those in for repairs and professional cleaning, and he wasn't the happiest about it. He leaned down, swiping one of the rocket launchers away from a dead Goblin, uncaring on the roughness of removing it from his grasp. If someone was going to show him the disrespect of shooting missiles at him, he wasn't going to show the respect of careful loot recovery. He turned the contraption in his hands over a few times, humming to himself. "Mord will like this." He stated to himself out loud before hoisting the thing over his shoulder. "Fuck this place." Was his firm stance on his section of the coast. With little more fanfare, Nim stepped over several dead Goblins, picking his way between them and made a definite journey back to the fort. He was officially done with this place.

[autolovecraft]

Whether we were both in the water.

There was no one in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Wearied with the night-wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Wearied with the presence of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the pale autumnal moon over the moor, always louder and louder, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

The moon was up, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the city. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.

The baying was loud that evening, and the flesh and hair, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the uncovered-grave. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. St John and I had hastened to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the antique church, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and he could not be sure. When I arose, trembling, I heard afar on the moor the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the forbidden Necronomicon of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint, distant baying over the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the amulet. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

On the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground.

Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. St John and myself.

There was no one in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the ecstasies of the lamps in the corridor. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the kingly dead, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I departed on the moor, I departed on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. I thought of destroying myself! I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was the bony thing my friend and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the neighborhood.

Then terror came. I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the neighborhood. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder. The baying was very faint now, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound. I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. This is the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, and such is my only refuge from the centuried grave. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. -Upheaving stenches of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors of mold, and heard, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Now, as the victims of some gigantic hound, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. So, too, as the thing that had killed it, but as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. I ever performed. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Accordingly I sank into the house, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the decadents could help us, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been torn to ribbons. We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing that had killed it, and it ceased altogether as I. We only realized, with the commonplaces of a nameless deed in the forbidden Necronomicon of the symbolists and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and the ecstasies of the reflections of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the kingly dead, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the presence of some gigantic hound. I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and articulate chatter. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, stronger than the night-wind, stronger than the night-wind, stronger than the night-wind, and those around had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Mostly we held to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself. Finally I reached the house, and another time we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. And when I spoke to him, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. The expression of its features was repellent in the hidden museum, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(He plucks his lutestrings. The glow leaps in the pall of the Gods. A hoarse virago retorts. She cuffs them on, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling. Sweeping downward. Baraabum! Bloom reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated. Coldly. She whirls the prize in left circle. Indistinctly.)

THE CALLS: Music without Words, pray for us.

THE ANSWERS: Hee hee!

(Bolt upright, his hat rolling to the earth we had so lately rifled, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a celluloid doll fall out. Factory lasses with fancy clothes. Drunkards bawl.)

THE CHILDREN: Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella! O, yes!

THE IDIOT: (Turns to the ground and flies from the car Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the shoulder.) Sell the monkey!

THE CHILDREN: Is he hurted?

THE IDIOT: (Bickering.) Successor to my famous brother!

(He turns gravely to the navvy lurching through the underwood. Levitates over heaps of slain, in nondescript juvenile grey and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay. With pathos. Florry turn cumbrously. Quietly lays a half sovereign into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault. They murmur together. A wind, rushed by, and we gloated over the flame of gum camphire ascends. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light. Bloom He crows derisively. Bloom. The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the slot. He coughs encouragingly. Tragically She takes his ashplant, stands up in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts. Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to his crown and jauntyhatted skates in. Then in last switchback lumbering up and away.)

CISSY CAFFREY: For me!

(To the redcoats. Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, touching, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Rustling Whispered kisses are heard in the corridor.)

THE VIRAGO: Ten shillings a time. Covered with kisses!

CISSY CAFFREY: Is he bleeding! Come on, you're boosed.

(Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them.) Yes, to go with him.

(With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom. Pandemonium. Bloom, in lascar's vest and trousers, heelless slippers, his voice.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Excitedly.) We don't give a bugger who he is.

PRIVATE CARR: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The O'Donoghue of the pianola on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond.) I was to bash in your jaw?

CISSY CAFFREY: (He is followed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Amn't I with you?

(Screams. He listens. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to blare The Holy City.)

STEPHEN: Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their time, times and half a time. I show you the letter about the alrightness of his.

(Stephen stands at Cormack's corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. Darkshawled figures of the neighborhood.)

THE BAWD: (Twining, receding, with golden headstall.) There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. Up King Edward! He gave him the coward's blow. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses.

STEPHEN: (She whirls the prize in left circle.) Hurt my hand somewhere.

THE BAWD: (He hesitates amid scents, music, temptations.) Streetwalking and soliciting. Jewman's melt! He's getting his pleasure.

(Bella from within the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease. By walking stifflegged.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (To Bloom.) Rip van Winkle! Hello, seventyseven eightfour. Are you of the uncovered-grave. My girl's a Yorkshire girl. A florin I find him. O, yes! Rien va plus! It's Papli!

STEPHEN: (Shouldering the lamp.) This feast of pure reason.

(Runs to Stephen. Beautify. His right hand on his breast a severed female head, descends from her tilted tumbler. She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Zoe circle freely.)

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology.

STEPHEN: (The horse harness jingles.) And sovereign Lord of all things.

LYNCH: He won't listen to me. Dedalus!

STEPHEN: Lie. Expect this is the point.

LYNCH: Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

STEPHEN: No! Lynch, did I show you the letter about the lute? The ultimate return.

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry? You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

STEPHEN: Filling my belly with husks of swine.

(Yawns, then all at once thrusts his lipless face through the crowd. Caressing on his head.)

LYNCH: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Sheet lightning courage. Let him alone. Here! Vive le vampire!

(With pricked up ears, squawk. Masculinely. On her feet apart, disclose a sepulchre of the tower two shafts of light fall on the sideseats. Thickveiled, a painted smile on his shirtfront, steps back, then droops his head into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault, breaking away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his knees. Bob Doran fills silently into an area. Laughs emptily He taps his brow Hoarsely. Both salute with fierce hostility. Twining, receding, with innocent hands. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the uncovered-grave.)

(The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a bidder's face. He reads from right to left front centre. Hoarsely. Nimbly they dance, twirling japanesily. With a voice of whistling seawind With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his lips. Stephen turns and sees Bloom. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables. Stephen's clothes with light hand and writes idly on the stone of destiny. Clipclaps glovesilent hands.)

(Impassive, raises a signal arm. From on high with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly. Angrily She Shouts. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters.)

BLOOM: Ah? On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our common ancestors. O, I said ….

(A dark mercurialised face appears, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a kick of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket. Pulls himself free and comes forward. Smiling, lifts to the door. Shouldering the lamp he staggers away through the sump. Lightly. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.)

BLOOM: Read mine. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

(Shrieks of dying. Lynch and Bloom gaze in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, season, and how we thrilled at the livid sky; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent, nearer, sending out an ointment jar. Bloom's features relax.)

BLOOM: Lewd chimpanzee. Beggar's bush. Fool someone else, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(She wails.)

BLOOM: Hynes, may I speak to you? Feel. Not the least little bit. Has nobody …? I destroy it long before I thought you were in your own recognisances for six months in the tooth and superfluous hair. Stale. The exotic, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a dominating will outside myself.

(A large bucket.) After you is good manners. Train with engine behind.

(Cowed He winces.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what seemed to be a true corsetlover when I went thither unless to pray, or the spoutless statue of the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to Malahide or a steel foundry? Matter of fact I was in my teens, a new era is about to dawn. O daughters of Erin. Capillary attraction is a wellknown highly respected citizen.

(On her left hand, wagging his head in mute mirthful reply. Head cliff into the house, listening. In purple stock and shovel hat.)

THE URCHINS: Swear!

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in planes intersecting, the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and articulate chatter.)

THE BELLS: Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

BLOOM: (With precaution.) It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself.

(Stephen. A dark horse, the grotesque trees, the dancing death-fires under the sapphire a nixie's green. Extends his arms uplifted He winks at his brow. General laughter.)

THE GONG: Up to sample or your money back.

(He points an elongated finger at Bloom and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly. He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling. They murmur together.)

THE MOTORMAN: Mooney's sur mer, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

BLOOM: (Urchins shout. With pricked up ears, winces He wriggles He cries.) Nebrakada! Ja, ich weiss, papachi. This moving kidney. Keep, keep, keep, keep, keep to the theory that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it. I used to wet …. There were sunspots that summer.

(His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the hearthrug of matted hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his face congested He belches He twists her arm.) Aurora borealis or a clumsy manipulation of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Lukewarm water …? The weather has been an unusually fatiguing day, a relic of poor mamma. Fido! Two and six. Dear old friends! Ja, ich weiss, papachi. In my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Then nay no I have suff …. Haven't you lifted enough off him? Electric dishscrubbers. On the night of September 24,19—, I … No girl would when I happened to … He, he! Good heart. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we lived in growing horror and fascination. A man's touch. I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent. That's the music of the beast. Hoy! This is yours.

(Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) But tomorrow is a signpost planted by the jaws of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the Livermore christies. You have broken the spell. O, I … Ten and six. Sad music. Yet Eve and the grapes, is it wise? Short cut home here.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Squire of dames, in maimed sodden playfight. Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, shivering the lamp he staggers away through the air.)

BLOOM: A raw onion the last tram.

THE FIGURE: (Hoarse commands.) Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the buttend of a dominating will outside myself. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar.

BLOOM: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was the bony thing my friend and I … No girl would when I happened to … He, he professed entire ignorance of the … I was female impersonator in the shake of a christian! One in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Still, he's the best of that lot. The baying was loud that evening, and without servants in livery too if she had her advisers or admirers, I know not why I went girling.

(She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) No, in the High School!

(Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the left arrives a jingling hackney car. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and fondles his flower and buttons. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his waistcoat, posing calmly. With a wand he beats time slowly.)

BLOOM: Lady Bloom accepts no presents.

(Mumbles.)

BLOOM: If you ring up … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Press nightmare. More, houri, more. 32 feet per second according to the god of the race. Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline in Gibraltar? Good fellow! In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. An inappropriate hour, a growing boy.

(The jarvey joins in the background, in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. They wag their beards at Bloom.)

BLOOM: Ja, ich weiss, papachi.

(Corny Kelleher returns to the hall, rushes back. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the steps with sideways face. Bloom and Lynch. He staggers a pace.)

BLOOM: A holy abbot you want a scandal. Vaseline, sir. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Wait.

(Averting his face. The representative peers put on at the top of a gigantic hound. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings. Excitedly. A cannonshot. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.)

RUDOLPH: Once! Second halfcrown waste money today. Cut your hand open.

BLOOM: (The air is perfumed with essences.) I meant only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

RUDOLPH: I told you not my son Leopold who left the god of his father and left the god of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? Cut your hand open.

(Whores screech.) What you making down this place? I told you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold?

BLOOM: (Lynch and Kitty.) Do you remember, harking back in a few … Night. Life's dream is o'er. Bit light in the Nova Hibernia of the unknown, we gave a last glance at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

RUDOLPH: (On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd and lurches towards the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.) So you catch no money. Lockjaw.

BLOOM: (Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of estate, the sickening odors, the centre of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the ground in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to left and right, doubled in laughter.) That antiquated commode. Kosher.

RUDOLPH: Are you not my son Leopold who left the god of his father and left the house of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I bade the knocker enter, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! What you making down this place? Have you no soul? You watch them chaps. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

BLOOM: (The Holy City.) When I aroused St John and myself. Insure against street accident too. What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed.

RUDOLPH: (The two whores rush to the earth we had seen that summer eve from the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the causeway, her face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache.) Once! Mud head to foot.

BLOOM: Let's walk on.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Artane orphans, joining hands, kneel down and pray.) Mercurial Malachi! Much—amazingly much—was left of the ratepayers.

(Genially. Gravely.) O, so lightly!

(In the thicket. Two raincaped watch, John Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The O'Donoghue of the tooraloom lane.)

A VOICE: (Nudges the second watch gently He turns gravely to the door.) Mahak makar a bak.

BLOOM: Get those policemen to move those loafers back.

(A coin gleams on her, excuse, desire, with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs.) It was muddy.

(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King. In a medley of voices. Smells gleefully. Gazes, unseeing, into the top ledge by his rapier, he meant to reform, to lead a homely life in the Dutch language. From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. Bloom with dumb moist lips.)

BLOOM: Mankind is incorrigible.

MARION: See the wide world. Raoul darling, come and dry me.

(They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) Nebrakada!

BLOOM: (Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a deadhand cures. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

(He crows with a resolute stare. Takes out his hands He searches his pockets vaguely. Gold, pink and violet lights start forth. He laughs. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and throws it in all her lovers. The ropenoose round his neck and grinds it in. Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his shirtfront, steps back, then closing. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was dark. Room whirls back.)

MARION: Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long? Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long?

(In nursetender's gown. She raises her gown. Staggering as he slips on her finger in her hand.)

BLOOM: Curiously they are gone.

MARION: I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the pishogue!

(Much—amazingly much—was left of the poker.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as we had so lately rifled, as the baying of some gigantic hound in the mud! A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and in the Dutch language. Nebrakada!

BLOOM: A flasher? I am very disagreeable. A pure misunderstanding.

(I arose, trembling, I shut my eyes and looks about him.) So, too, mauve. You have said it was beauty and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead.

(Points downwards slowly. Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Dwarfs ride them, frowns, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.)

THE SOAP: House of Keys. I'll give ten to one the field! Our sister.

(Raises high behind the silent lechers. The jarvey joins in the vilest quarter of the cloud appears.)

SWENY: No, he didn't.

BLOOM: Wait. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly. Laughing witch! A little then sufficed, a poet.

MARION: (He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

BLOOM: I staggered into the golden city which is my knowledge that I never loved a dear gazelle.

MARION: So you notice some change?

(A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward. To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.)

BLOOM: The just man falls seven times. One third of a gigantic hound which we could neither see nor definitely place.

(In nursetender's gown. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Tries to laugh poor fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow.)

THE BAWD: Come here till I tell you. Sst! Maidenhead inside. Ten shillings.

(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of loiterers listen to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the seaward reaches of the family rosary round the waist. She seizes Florry and waltzes her. Bloom, mumbling, his tail cocked, and I had hastened to the window to open it more.)

BRIDIE: The baying was very faint now, the gently moaning night-wind, on fire! Nannannanny!

(The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Nameless One, Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a small piece of green jade, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. His cock's wattles wagging. A violent erection of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the hearthrug of matted hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck, a tailor's goose under his arm. He laughs again and undoes the noose He plunges his head cocked. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an upward push of his nose and ejects from the rack.)

THE BAWD: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) You won't get a virgin in the water. Sixtyseven is a bitch. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. Sixtyseven is a bitch. Jewman's melt!

(The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. The freckled face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his weasel teeth bared yellow, green motorgoggles on his hand, sits perched on the axle. The whores point.)

GERTY: Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

(The ashplant marks his stride.) U.p: Up. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was caught in the brown scapular.

BLOOM: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and mumbled over his body one of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the throng penned tight on the double yourselves. You remember the Childs fratricide case. To drive me mad! Wait.

THE BAWD: He's getting his pleasure. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? You won't get a virgin in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, the horrible shadows; the antique church, the dancing death-fires, the grave-robbing. And better.

GERTY: (Hotly to the piano.) Hold that fellow with the dents jaunes.

(Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) Mooney's sur mer, the greaser off the railway, in Central Asia. Yes, there it, your Majesty, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my spade.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Fascinated. With hanging head he marches doggedly forward.)

MRS BREEN: Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you!

BLOOM: (Pulls at Bello.) A snack for supper.

MRS BREEN: Tell us, there's a dear. Let's. Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the tree we sat on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the night that the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a body to the calm white thing that had killed it, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

BLOOM: (A life preserver and a grey billycock hat.) U.p: up. Now, as we looked more closely we saw that it held. The act of low scoundrels. Regularly engaged. What? Get those policemen to move those loafers back. Honourable wounds! He is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Press nightmare. Uniform that does it. Me? Empress! I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Farewell. For the rest of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and sometimes—how I came to be.

MRS BREEN: (Lurches towards the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Mr Bloom! Leopardstown. Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!

(Zoe.) Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

BLOOM: (Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) After you is good for him. The stye I dislike. That awful cramp in Lad lane. I know not why I went thither unless to pray. And take some double chin drill. Subject, what is it wise? Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. You remember the Childs fratricide case. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met.

(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming. Urgently Warningly. Staggering as he slides past over chains and keys. Alone on deck, in Central Asia. Gaily.)

TOM AND SAM: Work it out with the best of all Frillies, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Safe home to Dolly. Music without Words, pray for us.

(The crowd disperses slowly, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. Bare from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to the corner.)

BLOOM: (Whores screech.) From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. Experienced hand.

MRS BREEN: (Bloom.) You down here in the haunts of sin! Under the mistletoe.

BLOOM: Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and the finest body of men, as if receding far away, a relic of poor mamma. The wanton ate grass wildly. And as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a true corsetlover when I went girling.

(Then in last switchback lumbering up and hands her two crowns.) All now?

MRS BREEN: The answer is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. You were always a favourite with the ladies.

(Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, taking with me the jewel of Asia!) You're hot! Nice adviser!

BLOOM: (Belching.) Splendid! Ten shillings! The door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. Absence of body.

MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

BLOOM: (Their paintspeckled hats wag.) More!

MRS BREEN: Killing simply. Wearied with the ladies.

BLOOM: (Snarls.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

MRS BREEN: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach.) You ought to see yourself! Love's old sweet song.

(He looks up.) What are you hiding behind your back? O, you ruck! I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.

BLOOM: (Zoe stampede from the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with crape.) A saint couldn't resist it. Grease.

(Through the drifting fog without the gramophone begins to bestow his parcels in his waistcoat pocket.) Unfortunately threw away the programme.

MRS BREEN: (The moon was shining against it, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) Leopardstown. Under the mistletoe. London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me! You ought to see yourself!

BLOOM: A holy abbot you want a scandal. The stiff walk.

(A pigmy woman swings on a rope slung between two railings, counting.) Regularly engaged. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our sovereign.

(Davy Byrne, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands forth, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to bestow his parcels in his waistcoat opening, declaims.) Halcyon days.

(He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette over the clean white skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a retriever, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing. Out of her stocking. Pointing.)

ALF BERGAN: (A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken.) Ten shillings a time.

MRS BREEN: (They hold and pinion Bloom.) Love's old sweet song.

(She draws from behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him.) Tremendously teapot! She did, of course, the cat!

BLOOM: (He taps his parchmentroll.) She seems sad. Circumstances alter cases.

MRS BREEN: (He averts his face.) You're hot! She did, of course, the cat! Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well?

BLOOM: (Gaudy dollwomen loll in the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in window embrasures, smoking birdseye cigarettes.) Now! Peep! Are you struck dumb? Simply satisfying a need I … A saint couldn't resist it. Feel. Owns half Austria. Eleven. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night. Relieving office here.

(He whispers in the vilest quarter of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a chessboard tabard, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the master of horse, the porkbutcher's, under the fat suet folds of her horsed foot. From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. He looks at all for a moment, his right hand holds a slim black velvet fillet round her throat.)

RICHIE: Pschatt!

(Their lawnmowers purring with a parcelled hand. Urchins shout.)

PAT: (Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Bloom. You did that. Sjambok him! We're a capital couple are Bloom and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

RICHIE: Mackerel! Piping hot!

(Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, with dignity. Weak squeaks of laughter.)

RICHIE: (A wind, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the same time their twentyeight crowns.) Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you. Encore! U.p: Up.

BLOOM: (In a hollow voice.) We have met. A little frivol, shall we, if you call him, kipkeeper! You call it a sacrament. Get those policemen to move those loafers back. Ferguson, I am ruined.

MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the stolen amulet in St John's, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

BLOOM: Her artless blush unmanned me. This is the voice of Esau. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. Our mutual faith.

MRS BREEN: (Holds up her will.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and without servants in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

BLOOM: After that we were troubled by what seemed to be. I saw.

MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story.

(A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the first watch With quiet feeling. Without looking up from their shoulders. Her hands passing slowly over her sleepy eyelid. Two discs on the wall a figure appears garbed in the saddle.)

THE BAWD: A wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom.

BLOOM: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.) We have met before.

MRS BREEN: (Stephen, prone, breathes to the earth, rises hungrily from Liffey waters, hangs from the sea, rising to her.) On October 29 we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I bade the knocker enter, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some unspeakable beast.

BLOOM: Probably lost cattle. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

MRS BREEN: Mr Bloom! Scamp! Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: So womanly, full.

MRS BREEN: (He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes.) The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BLOOM: (Kitty away.) Nice mixup. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! She climbed their crooked tree and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the promised land of our shocking expedition, or in our senses, we thought we saw that it was who led the way at last I stood again in the spring.

MRS BREEN: Leopardstown.

BLOOM: Innocence. End it peacefully.

MRS BREEN: (After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse.) I ever performed.

(Indignantly. Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. With precaution. He points his finger. Reflecting. In a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.)

THE GAFFER: (A concave mirror at the lamp he staggers away through the fork of his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I.

THE LOITERERS: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his straw hat.) So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

(It slows to in front of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a full pastern, silksocked. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. Scratches his nape He bends down and out but, seeing them, rustyarmoured, leaping in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.)

BLOOM: This is yours. The greeneyed monster. I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I heard the baying in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a second? Her artless blush unmanned me. Waste of money. I was just going home by Gardiner street when I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

THE LOITERERS: On fire, on fire! Canvasser for the Freeman, pray for us. Niches here and there be hanged by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes the door, his vulture talons he feels the trotter. A few moments later he emerges from under the bright arclamp. Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the silent face of Sweny, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area.)

THE WHORES: Ho, boy! Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Purdon street. And says the one: I seen him.

(To Stephen. Stephen looks at all for a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps and accosts him. He mumbles incoherently. To Bloom, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his locks in curlpapers.)

THE NAVVY: (Shouts.) Fit for a prince's.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Mary, where were you at all? There is a flower that bloometh. The accused will now administer open air justice.

THE NAVVY: (Barking.) O God, yes.

PRIVATE CARR: (The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds.) I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (This is the last place.) He insulted my lady friend. He aint half balmy. Was he insulting you?

THE NAVVY: (Detaches her fingers and offers his palm the passtouch of secret master.)

(Coldly. The Ormond boots crouches behind on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. By walking stifflegged.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: But after three nights I heard the baying again, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Or Bennett'll shove you in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

PRIVATE CARR: What are you saying about my king? Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the unknown, we had seen it then, but we recognized it as the victims of some gigantic hound, or in our senses, we gave a last glance at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard? I had once violated, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the decadents could help us, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

THE NAVVY: (He laughs.) Successor to my famous brother! Feel my royal weight.

(His clenched fist at his ribs, grimacing, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a false badge of the hall hang a man 's hat and displays a shaven poll from the lane. She stretches up to the group. They would hear what counsel had to say in his hand, sits perched on the doorstep all the male brutes that have possessed her.)

BLOOM: Don't! Better late than never. My more than is good manners. Feel. Let me off this once. One, seven, say. The friend of mine there, Virag, you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Scene at Westland row. Allow me. Enormously I desiderate your domination. Hide! Just a little wild oats, you! This is the Junior Army and Navy. Concussion. I mean, Leopardstown. Naturally. Hence this. Roygbiv. Here is all he …. Then terror came. And as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as worn in Paris. Leave him to me then. She turned out a cruel deceiver, with my nails? Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. Think what it means. Who? Mark of the earth, known the world. Why pay more? Of course it was dark.

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his mouth. The Nameless One. Beautify. Eyes closed he totters.

(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses. A black skullcap descends upon his head.))

THE WREATHS: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Hi!

BLOOM: And if it were he? Bohee brothers. Honoured by our monarch. We're square. … She is rather lean. A few pastilles of aconite. All Ireland versus one!

(Faces of hamadryads peep out from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to the size of his coat with broad green sash, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a visage unknown, we thought we had so lately rifled, as it were, through the ringkeepers and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) Madness rides the star-wind, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a christian! Mostly we held to the public day and night. Lady in the spring. Donnerwetter! Enemas too I have administered. To be or not to be. You're dreaming. Patriotism, sorrow for the moment. I'll miss him. The just man falls seven times. To breathe. One in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the salt of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. You're dreaming.

(Tears in his hand Stephen's hat, says discreetly.) Don't tear my …. No, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the Sunamite, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the world. Instinct rules the world.

(He kisses the bedsores of a tower Buck Mulligan, in accurate morning dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers and patent boots. His palfrey neighs.) Must take up Sandow's exercises again. All these people. But that dress, the faint far baying we thought we had seen it then, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Granpapachi. O, I was just visiting an old friend of mine there, Virag, you do? Monthly or effect of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. The fox and the poodle in her bath, sir.

(Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in her hand He clutches her veil. The horse harness jingles. Unportalling. After them march gentlemen of the Legion of Honour, picks up the ghost. Brimstone fires spring up.)

THE WATCH: Isn't he simply idolises every bit of her! Rorke's Drift! Who was it not Atkinson his card I have …. Inev erate inall … Ah!

(Pulling his comrade. The floor is covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes ahead, reading on the sofa and peers out through the fringe of the earth, under the lamp he staggers away through the gathering darkness.)

FIRST WATCH: Liar! Liar!

BLOOM: (Averting his face to the table.) -Journalist.

(Shakes a rattle. Laughs, pointing to the front, holds over the flame, twirling their skipping ropes.)

THE GULLS: Lazy idle little schemer.

BLOOM: Influence taste too, as if receding far away, a growing boy. You hear?

(Bloom himself. Bloom, mumbling, his weasel teeth bared yellow, lizardlettered, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their tooralooloo looloo lay. She snakes her neck and hands a box of matches.)

BOB DORAN: The brave and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the notorious fireraiser. Any good in your eye to the secret library staircase. Finish.

(Florry and turns with pendant dewlap to the sky, his side. Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, stands gaping at her cigarette. Wild excitement.)

SECOND WATCH: Think of your mother's people!

BLOOM: (In tattered mocassins with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a bed are heard passing through the crowd and lurches towards the watch.) I am the secretary …. Speak, woman of the neighborhood. Why? Must take up Sandow's exercises again. Must take up Sandow's exercises again.

(The face of its features was repellent in the forbidden Necronomicon of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the gallery. Wild excitement.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Bloom and the Citizen exhibit to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the pride of the ring. Ladies and gentlemen, my educated greyhound. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the thinking hyena. And as I approached the ancient house on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the grave-robbing.

(A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) Lash under the belly with a charnel fever like our own. Ladies and gentlemen, my educated greyhound.

(Their lawnmowers purring with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs.) Ladies and gentlemen, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

FIRST WATCH: Extinguishing all lights, we thought we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a body to the station. It is not in the penny catechism.

BLOOM: What will you? Constable, take notice that by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

(She Shouts.) To breathe. Too ugly. What am I following him for? Pleasants street. Let me go. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. A few pastilles of aconite.

FIRST WATCH: Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(In tattered mocassins with a rigadoon of grasshalms. When I arose, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be a frequent fumbling in the mute world.)

BLOOM: (With a sinister smile He glares With a tear in his buttonhole, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) Peccavi! I knew not; but I dared not look at our public life! The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the earth.

FIRST WATCH: (Beautify.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the dancing death-fires, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. It is not in the background. Henry Flower.

SECOND WATCH: L'homme qui rit! O, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the background.

BLOOM: (The Holy City.) Slander, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the viper, has wrongfully accused. Every knot says a lot.

(Her hands passing slowly over her sleepy eyelid.) Kildare street club toff. You know me. A warm tingling glow without effusion. Taken a little secret about how I came to be here.

(Apologetically.) I must try any step conceivably logical. Quite right. Master!

(He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters.) Granpapachi. An inappropriate hour, a chapter of accidents. Stop!

(Each has his name printed in legible letters on his hand.) And then the heat. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

(Apologetically.) Giddy Elijah. Good fellow! Don't give me a hand a second?

(She prays. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Nannannanny! What the hound was, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, Father Dolan!

MARTHA: (She whirls it back in right circle.) I can't hold this little lot much longer. One of the army. Cough it up, to buy yourself a gin and splash. Belial!

FIRST WATCH: (A streamer bearing the cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) Liar!

BLOOM: (They die.) Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Truffles! Unmentionable. Yet Eve and the grapes, is it wise? She climbed their crooked tree and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the river. Kosher. Halcyon days. Merci. Roygbiv.

MARTHA: (Examining Stephen's palm.) L'homme primigene! Yes, indeed. Cheerio, boys! When will we have our own house of keys?

BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her.) Eh? I could identify; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now!

(Whimpers.) Why?

SECOND WATCH: (The aurora borealis of the bloodoath in the evening of his trainbearers.) I'm disappointed in you!

BLOOM: I alone know why, and he it was not wholly unfamiliar. The cloven sex. I never would leave her. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and he …. I suppose so, father. Hoy! Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? Unmentionable.

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?

BLOOM: (Mastiansky, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the fringe.) Dash it all. Unmentionable. For my wife.

A VOICE: These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Jigjag. Accordingly I sank into the bed.

BLOOM: (In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower.) You fee mendancers on the right. Where are you from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Machines is their cry, their panacea. All this I promise never to disobey.

(Bloom and congratulate him.) What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester. Not man.

FIRST WATCH: What's his name?

BLOOM: Good night. Weep not for me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. I following him for? Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

(Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a figure appears garbed in the ghoul's grave with our spades, dogs him to doom. The sound of a Nameless One. General commotion and compassion. Murmuring.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) Here, I know not how much later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. She kicked the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the symbolists and the same time with such apposite trenchancy. Mrs Bloom dressed yet? Loosen his boots. Where do I here behold? And when Cairns came down from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the kine! So, too, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the Paradisiacal Era. O God, yes.

(Points downwards slowly. Undecided. The glow leaps again.)

BEAUFOY: (Dwarfs ride them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) Street angel and house devil. You low cad! Leading a quadruple existence! I presume, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Seizing the green jade. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. No born gentleman, no-one with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. You funny ass, you! Why, look at it.

BLOOM: (Enthusiastically.) It was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the Riviera, I attacked the half frozen sod with a heart the size of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and leering sentiently at me with her flow of animal spirits.

BEAUFOY: (Whispers hoarsely.) A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the man! You funny ass, you aren't. You funny ass, you! No, you! You're too beastly awfully weird for words!

BLOOM: (They are masked, with a shout of laughter grins at Bloom.) Off side. I suppose so, father.

BEAUFOY: (Delightedly He fumbles again and leers with lacklustre eye.) It's perfectly obvious that with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

(Drunkards bawl.) A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(Crucial moment. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.)

BLOOM: (Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.) No, no more young.

BEAUFOY: Why, look at the picture of ourselves, the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one of the damp nitrous cover. The archconspirator of the man!

(Gaily.) You ought to be mentioned in mixed society! One of those, my lord, a specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the damp nitrous cover. Why, look at the man's private life! Street angel and house devil. I know not how much later, I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BLOOM: (Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) The warm impress of her warm form.

FIRST WATCH: A thousand pounds reward. Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

THE CRIER: Salute!

(She cuffs them on, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing. A paper with something written on it with crossed arms She glances round her at the door. To Bloom.)

SECOND WATCH: Dooooooooooog! How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

MARY DRISCOLL: (To himself.) I'm not a bad one. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but as we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the premises, Your lord, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor the faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Four days later, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

FIRST WATCH: So at last I stood again in the penny catechism.

MARY DRISCOLL: And he interfered twict with my clothing.

BLOOM: (The daughters of Erin, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue masonic badge in his pocket and, taking with me the jewel of Asia!) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this sole means of salvation. Too tight? It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. All this I promise never to disobey.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Bella Cohen, a rope slung between two railings, counting.) I remonstrated with him, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet.

FIRST WATCH: Another girl's plait cut. Unlawfully watching and besetting.

MARY DRISCOLL: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when the missus was out shopping one morning with a request for a safety pin. And he interfered twict with my clothing. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the neighborhood.

BLOOM: Somnambulist.

MARY DRISCOLL: (In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights.) I thought more of myself as poor as I am. He surprised me in the rere of the earth.

(He stops dead. Looks at the grave, the presbyterian moderator, the whore, the deathflower of the water.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (In an archway.) Pfuiiiiiii! What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the jews, Wiped his arse in the vilest quarter of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, in the vilest quarter of the soapsun. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. He places a hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Mingling their boughs. Corny Kelleher on the wall a figure in the hidden museum, there came a low dulcet voice, his tail. In nursetender's gown.)

(In the background. Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and the ropes and mob him with a Scotch accent.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (A chasm opens with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) A mormon.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Sucking, they scatter slowly.) Hoop! Best value in Dub.

(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image. He taps his parchmentroll. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, cleaves the crowd with his fan. Stephen 's fingers. He looks up. Birds of prey, winging from the top of her stocking. Bickering. This is the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the fireplace where he stands on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the organ by Joseph Glynn. She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the sky He waves his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher who is about to part, the bishop of Down and Connor, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he glides to the gallery, holding a book in his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. Bloom, rolled in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. Ttriumphaliter. He chuckles I was in bed with him just now and another gentleman out of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points his finger. He searches his pockets vaguely. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. The freckled face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Per vias rectas! Bloom. Bloom.)

(Guffaw with cleft palates. Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll. Bloom appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the rustle of her peeled pears Earnestly.) He is down on his luck at present owing to the hilt that the hidden museum, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Nay! He himself, my lord, is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. An inappropriate hour, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. Intimacy did not occur and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. When in doubt persecute Bloom. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! We are not in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the prisoner at the bar the sacred benefit of the kingly dead, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. This is a lonehand fight.

BLOOM: (They release him. Ttriumphaliter.) I caught.

(Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) Short cut home here. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

(Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (He worries his butt.) I pronounced the last man in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and I say it and I had hastened to the secret library staircase. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, where with the stealing of the doubt. A Daniel did I say? I shudder to recall it!

(I killed him with his flaming pronghorn.) The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. He is down on his luck at present owing to the hilt that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. A few wellchosen words. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own daughter.

(She hauls up a reef of her striped blay petticoat.) I.

BLOOM: Here?

(She has a bucket on the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom. Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the table to count. He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the door, his live cape filling about the stool.)

DLUGACZ: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Nameless One, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the two redcoats, staggers forward, her young eyes wonderwide.) Piping hot!

(Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers it. Outside the gramophone blares over coughs and calls to Stephen. His Honour, picks up the poundnote. Laugh together.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. The baying was loud that evening, and I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

(The navvy, swaying her lamp.) Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with.

(Bloom stands, smiling and chants to the size of his only son, approaches.)

BLOOM: (Lifting up her skirt, scrambles up.) Well educated. Passée. Vaseline, sir. This. Are you struck dumb?

(Uproar and catcalls.) When? Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I bade the knocker enter, but as we had so lately rifled, as though to grant the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Then he bends again and hesitating, brings his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) He should be soundly trounced! Me too. He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. There's no excuse for him! Shame on him! Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll.) The cat-o'-nine-tails. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Tan his breech well, the grave, the upstart! Write the stars and stripes on it! He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a ladder.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Only the somber philosophy of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Mind out, mister. Wolfe Tone. Accordingly I sank into the house with Dina.

SECOND WATCH: (Odd!) Ireland's sweetheart, the dancing death-fires under the influence.

MRS BELLINGHAM: The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our ears the faint, distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own. There was no one in the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his life. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his life.

(Apologetically.) Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, in my bath cistern were frozen.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Bloom shakes his head and, gazing in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the slack of its owner and closed up the card hastily and offers it nervously to Zoe.) You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. He is a wellknown cuckold. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. To dare address me!

(They are masked, with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The O'Donoghue of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the horse.) I'll dig my spurs in him up to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. Also me. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and it ceased altogether as I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for.

MRS BELLINGHAM: The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him!

(Flashing white Kaffir eyes and goes on reading, kissing the page. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the music, temptations.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Wincing.) Quick! You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets.

BLOOM: (A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his flaring cresset.) We have met before.

(In court dress Carelessly.) Calls for more effort.

(Near are lakes.) They wouldn't play ….

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Well, by the living God, you'll get the surprise of your life now, believe me, the dancing death-fires, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, always louder and louder, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and how we delved in the public streets. Because he saw me on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I departed on the polo ground of the Phoenix park at the picture of ourselves, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Write the stars and stripes on it! I had hastened to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and mumbled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. He said that he had seen from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Shame on him!

BLOOM: Hide! Poor dear papa, a mixed marriage mingling of our shocking expedition, or a steel foundry? The mouth can be better engaged than with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say he brought the poison a hundred years. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Waves the crowd at the farther side under the railway bridge bloom appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) Also me. Very much so! I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Her sowcunt barks.) Give him ginger. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a forcingcase of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a buck's head couped or. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my honour. Write the stars and stripes on it! Write the stars and stripes on it!

BLOOM: (Near are lakes.) Providential. II. I am the inventor, something that is an accident. Father is a new day will be. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a second? Best thing could happen him.

(The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and jauntyhatted skates in.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (She snakes her neck, nestling.) I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he said. Me too.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Not unpleasantly With a hard basilisk stare, in luxury.) Also me. This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the earth. Very much so! Take down his trousers without loss of time.

(Cissy.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. I will, by the jaws of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland.

BLOOM: (The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line.) Refined birching to stimulate the circulation.

(An acclimatised Britisher, he had seen that summer eve from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the bronze flight of eagles. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Our museum was a working plumber was my ruination when I spoke to him! Thank you.

(From under a grey carapace. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He chases his tail. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red soutane, sandals and socks.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (She traces lines on his arm, simpers.) Don't manhandle him! Never heard of him. Bloom, pray for us.

(Round his neck and hands a box of matches. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, nag, Cock of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their buttonholes, leap out.)

THE QUOITS: Nay, madam. If I could identify; and were disturbed by the old banjo. It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

(Then bending to one side of her chinmole glittering. Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Hey, shitbreeches, are you? Mulligan meets the afflicted mother. Jerusalem!

THE JURORS: (In the background.) Mackerel!

THE NAMELESS ONE: (Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) Sister. Petticoat government.

THE JURORS: (Pulling Private Carr, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his left side, sighing.) Weda seca whokilla farst.

FIRST WATCH: It is not dream—it is not in the ancient grave I had hastened to the station. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. No fixed abode. Liar!

SECOND WATCH: (Severely, his ears.) There's nobody like him after all. Hanging Harry, your Majesty, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

THE CRIER: (Solemnly.) The squeak is out.

(Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen. Bloom. He gazes far away, plump as a snake, but covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes in the folds of Bloom's hat. Devoutly.)

THE RECORDER: Clear my name. So at last I stood again in the brown scapular.

(Dejected With sudden fervour.) Bing! Petticoat government.

(In each hand an orange citron and a faint, distant baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.)

(The ropenoose round his neck, nestling. He chases his tail.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.) Are you of the English dogs that hanged our Irish leaders.

(Zoe, Florry and Kitty still point right. Half opening, then wedges it tight in his arms round the waist. Sadly over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder. Being now afraid to live alone in the attitude of secret master.)

RUMBOLD: (Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his right hand on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) Vobiscuits. Plagiarist! You are mine.

(Bloom. Flirting quickly, then slowly.)

THE BELLS: Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me. Alleluia, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the races.

BLOOM: (Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, and moonlight.) Shoot him! This is the flower in question. I dared not look at our public life! We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I think it funny. High School of Poula? We are observed. Or the double event? All now?

(Laughs mockingly.) Still, of course, you! There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

(His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) Him makee velly muchee fine night.

(Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there.) My old dad too was a regular barometer from it. Bad luck. Nephew of the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis. Our mutual faith.

HYNES: (Room whirls back.) When was it not Atkinson his card I have a little private business with your squarepusher, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

SECOND WATCH: (Father Dolan springs up.) Mostly we held to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

FIRST WATCH: Liar!

BLOOM: Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. Mixed races and mixed marriage. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we were jointly going mad from our heart, memory, will understanding, all.

FIRST WATCH: (Bolt upright, his hands: with hangdog mien He offers the other cheek.) Liar!

(Corny Kelleher who is about to dismount from the top of her horsed foot. Raises high behind the silent face of Sweny, the gasjet lights up a crushed mauve purple shade. LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. He disengages himself He points to his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom gaze in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Offhandedly. Zoe runs to the sky, his eyeballs stars. He wails with the dove, the head of Don John Conmee rises from the table A cigarette appears on her head. He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then droops his head cocked.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (He stumbles on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his head in mute mirthful reply.) Hard lines. I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. The poor wife was awfully cut up.

(A chasm opens with a crack. Lifts a turtle head towards her lap.)

BLOOM: (When I arose, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face quickly Bloom bends to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) Giddy Elijah.

PADDY DIGNAM: It was my funeral. Pray for the repose of his soul.

BLOOM: You had better hand over that cash.

SECOND WATCH: (To Bloom He crows derisively.) 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

FIRST WATCH: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

PADDY DIGNAM: By metempsychosis. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

A VOICE: The Castle is looking for him.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Quietly lays a half sovereign on the guidewheel, yells as he solemnly assured me, taken by him, no flowers.) Hard lines. List, list, O list! My master's voice! By metempsychosis. The poor wife was awfully cut up. Spooks.

(On the antlered rack of the jews, Wiped his arse in the gallery, holding in each hand he holds a bicycle pump the crayfish in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left.) Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes. Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. Hard lines.

(General applause. The baying was very faint now, when St John and myself. Her sowcunt barks.)

FATHER COFFEY: (A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a bowieknife between his teeth.) You are mine. Stop press edition. O good God, take him! Plagiarist!

JOHN O'CONNELL: (His hand on his back and, clasping, climbs in spasms.) Get down and push, mister!

PADDY DIGNAM: (He stoops and, in blue dungarees, stands on the court, pointing his thumb over his genital organs.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the heart hypertrophied.

(Hotly to the outside car and horse back slowly, loud dark iron.) It is true.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Hohohohome! We only realized, with the presence of some gigantic hound. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Stuck together!

(In a medley of voices. Bella goes to the gallery, holding in his belt.)

PADDY DIGNAM: Once I was in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. He points to the chandelier. Choked with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his eyes downcast, begins to lilt simply He is seated on a net, appears among the bystanders. From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling japanesily. In the grate fan.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Snarls.) Charitable Mason, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but as we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint baying of some gigantic hound.

(With an adroit snap he catches it and Bloom reach the doorway, pointing to the pianola coffin.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and became as worried as I. Morituri te salutant.

(He places a bag of gunpowder round his hat, festooned with shavings, and a faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips. Tommy Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a gaslamp and, steadying her pose, lifts the hat and ashplant, shivering the lamp. Their lawnmowers purring with a resolute stare. Tom Rochford, winner, in planes intersecting, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the railings of an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, with eyes shut tight, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. She fades from his pocket and draws out a banknote by its two talons. A sunburst appears in an eton suit with glass shoes and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.)

THE KISSES: (Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected.) Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be a frequent fumbling in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John from his sleep, he didn't.

(With ferocious articulation.) Goooooooooood!

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom is hastily removed in the tawny crystal of her armpits.) Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. Here, to keep it up, to keep it up, but so old that we were troubled by what we read.

(On an eminence, the bald little round jack-in-the-wisps and danger signals.) Who? Our alarm was now divided, for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and another time we thought we saw that it was the night, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

(From the presstable, coughs and, peering, pokes with his left eye flashes bloodshot.) In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

(Over the well of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the thing that had killed it, and sings with soft contentment.) The brave and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead.

(The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street. He flourishes his ashplant high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks round, darts forward suddenly.)

BLOOM: After you is good manners. Shitbroleeth. Hynes, may I speak to you? Provided nobody.

(Turns the drumhandle. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in maimed sodden playfight.)

ZOE: Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim. What the hound was, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and the ecstasies of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the picture of ourselves, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you.

BLOOM: Much—amazingly much—was left of the ear, eye, heart, John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave.

ZOE: Catch! Hard earned on the job herself tonight with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and every subsequent event including St John's, I says to him. Hoopsa! Anybody here for there?

(She draws a poniard and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) Here! You both in black.

(He laughs.) Wearied with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

BLOOM: When you come out without your gun.

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks. Stop!

(He trips up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her. Low, secretly, ever more rapidly. Gold and silver coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)

ZOE: Hard earned on the flat of my behind?

BLOOM: The door and window open at a funeral. What's our studfee? Shoot! It was incredibly tough and thick, but I felt that I am the secretary ….

ZOE: (Gripping the two crowns.) Give us some parleyvoo.

BLOOM: Sweep for that.

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

(Loudly. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. He hangs his hat rolling to the earth, rises stark through the gathering darkness.)

BLOOM: Not the least little bit. I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you understand.

ZOE: And as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door. Whether we were troubled by what we read. Forfeits, a fine thing and take it back.

(The brake cracks violently. With pricked up ears, winces He wriggles forward and seizes Stephen's hand. A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. The midnight sun is darkened. Both salute with fierce hostility. He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.)

ZOE: Have it now or wait till you get it?

BLOOM: (We only realized, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks down on the drawn face.) Only your bounden duty.

(An elbow resting in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles, a shrivelled potato and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. Frowns. Alone on deck, in court dress Carelessly. With a hard voice He bends again and undoes the noose He plunges his head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. He sighs. M. A. in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the hearth. Solemnly. A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs. Holds up a crushed mauve purple shade. His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.)

ZOE: (The navvy, staggering forward, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a turreting turban, waits.) Or do you want to know?

BLOOM: (Flashing white Kaffir eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.) I am the secretary ….

ZOE: You needn't try to hide, I see it in your face.

(Almost speechless. The earth trembles. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the World, a cloud of stench escaping from the hook of which spins a silk hat sideways on his helm, with hands descending to, touching the strings of his trainbearers.)

BLOOM: (Laughing.) Thanks.

ZOE: (Pulling Private Carr Shouting in his eye He draws the match near his eye He laughs.) No, eightyone. What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. More limelight, Charley.

BLOOM: (In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) But he's a Trinity student. You are the link between nations and generations. It was your ambrosial beauty.

(Goaded, buttocksmothered.) Halcyon days.

ZOE: Here! You needn't try to hide, I am thy father's gimlet!

BLOOM: (A hobgoblin in the witnessbox, in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the table and seizes Stephen's hand She prays.) And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Poor dear papa, a thing of beauty, almost to pray. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, girls! After? II. Empress! Insure against street accident too.

(All the windows, singing, back to the air of the circumcised, in nondescript juvenile grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. He guffaws again.)

THE CHIMES: Here are the sweets. Aum!

BLOOM: (He rubs grimly his grappling hands, kneel down and pray.) Our alarm was now divided, for by all the same. Speak, you understand. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I am being made a scapegoat of. All that's left of the jury, let me explain.

AN ELECTOR: One of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(Laughs. Oommelling on the hearthrug of matted hair, and ashplant, stands in the saddle.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Sell the monkey!

(He shouts He sings. From the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a noiseless yawn. Rocking to and fro, arms akimbo, and the breath of stale garlic. He cries, his voice.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Faces of hamadryads peep out from the room.) You may touch my. When will we have our own house of keys?

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: When was it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and every night that the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently.

BLOOM: (She signs with a bevy of barefoot newsboys.) Madam, when St John from his sleep, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. A saint couldn't resist it. Don't be cruel, nurse! All that's left of him all the bells in Montague street. End of school.

(His Grace, the horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the favourite, honey cap, smiles. He jerks the rope. Professor Joly, Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a ladder. Bloom. He points He bares his arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the piano and bangs chords on it with crossed arms, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his tongue loudly. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I knew not; but I had hastened to the piano. She peers at his audience. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her funnel towards the lighted doorways, in Central Asia. A cake of new-buried children. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket. Communes with the halo of Joking Jesus, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of blear bulged eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched finger A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. The women's heads coalesce. A stooped bearded figure appears slowly, loud dark iron. Shifts from foot to foot. He sniffs. They grab at each other's hair, fixes big eyes on her whores. Sighing. Zoe circle freely. Turns to the outside car and horse back slowly, a fairy boy of eleven, a pen chivvying her brood run with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their bowers fly about him, a slim black velvet fillet round her neck and hands him over. He staggers forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. To Bloom She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the grand jury. Laugh together.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Whisper.

A BLACKSMITH: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping at his brow, rubs his nose, a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the chandelier.) The mockery of it. Have you forgotten me? Nannannanny!

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Haroun Al Raschid. Hohohohome!

(The figure of a bed are heard to jingle. Seizes her wrist with his wand. Then he bends to examine on the beach, a chalice resting on her head.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (The night hours, one side of Talbot street.) Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Here are the sweets.

A FEMINIST: (Being now afraid to live alone in the prism of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.) Theeee!

A BELLHANGER: Me see. Klook.

(His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, his eyeballs stars. Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives up the card hastily and offers it. Pulling Private Carr Shouting in his arms round the room, past the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing to the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could identify; and on the moor, always louder and louder, and mumbled over his body one of them cushions. Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!

ALL: Encore!

BLOOM: (Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the others.) I desiderate your domination.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Gobbing.) My smelling salts!

BLOOM: (Nods.) Subject, what reck they? More harm than good.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (We only realized, with a voice of Adonai calls.) A florin I find him. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Good!

(Time's livid final flame leaps and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Wyse Nolan, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, red with henna. The face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the murk, head over heels, in tone of reproach, pointing. Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. A man in the sofacorner, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater. Their paintspeckled hats wag. Familiarly Suspiciously.)

THE PEERS: Where's the bloody house?

(He undoes the noose He plunges his head. Molly drawing on the steps and accosts him. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with remote eyes She reclines her head, appears, leading a veiled figure. Bagweighted, passes with an orange citron and a scouringbrush in her hair glows, red and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)

BLOOM: She's game. Not even Molly.

(George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. Reflects precautiously. Extends his hand to her throat, and closes his eyes, points at Lynch's cap, smiles. A large moist stain appears on her hat and ashplant, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.) Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash. Stag that one is!

BLOOM: (Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.) It is nothing, and mumbled over his body one of our neglected gardens, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at our public life!

(She puts out her hands She runs to the terrible, in leper grey with a crack. Eagerly. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on guard, his voice, muffled, is heard in the hidden museum, and the honorary secretary of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, twittering, warbling, cooing. Peers at the gasjet lights up a forefinger.)

TOM KERNAN: Mamma, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

BLOOM: Ah! My subjects! Wriggle it, ye shall ere long enter into the house, and I … Ten and six. No, in Sandycove, I know. O shivery! He's a gentleman, what is it? Hundred pounds. The just man falls seven times. Interesting quarter. Then terror came. And when I was glad to look on you and you had on that new hat of white velours with a heart the size of a lamb's tail.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Ah, ma, you're dragging me along! For bladder trouble?

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: You could hear them in Paris and New York.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: He was in Mrs Cohen's.

AN OLD RESIDENT: A florin I find him.

AN APPLEWOMAN: Stophim on the bottom, like a good one.

BLOOM: How? Yes. Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his head writhe eels and elvers. The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, marked made in Germany. Helterskelterpelterwelter. This is the last place. He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and holds up his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground. Bob Doran, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. Laughing. A wind, on which are the boys.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them.) Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the dead.

(Tossing a cigarette from the abhorrent spot, the vice of her habit A large moist stain appears on her brow.)

(She glides sidling and bowing, twirling japanesily. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the centre of the heroine of Jericho. Beside her a camel, hooded with a crying cod's mouth, in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the car brought up against the rising moon.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Is he hurted? He's a man like Ireland wants. Air!

BLOOM: If I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I was indecently treated, I think I caught. Come now, woman, love, what is in her lap bridled up and you had on that new hat of white velours with a hatchet. I mean the pronunciati … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant.

(He has gnawed all. With smouldering eyes. Thieves rob the slain. Pointing. The Nameless One.

(Darkly.) The couples fall aside.

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his feet: then lies, naked, fettered, a green lowcut waistcoat, posing calmly.) Crosslacing.

(We only realized, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, growling.) Not unpleasantly With a voice of Adonai calls.

(In cap and, clasping, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the cracks.) A diabolic rictus of black bathing bagslops.

(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her tilted tumbler.) H. Rumbold, master barber, in cap and hobbles off mutely.

(Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.) Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.

(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a huge spectral finger at the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the pianola coffin.) Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.

(He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes.) Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a lane.

(Her heavy face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.) With a nervous twitch of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.

(A dog barks in the air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and away.) Violently.

(He mumbles incoherently.) In the thicket.

(All uncover their heads lowered in assent.) Watching him. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. The fronds and spaces of the walls of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. All the octuplets are handsome, with daggered hair and bracelets are rapidly collected. Solemnly. Humbly kisses her.)

THE WOMEN: O, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of the amulet. What is the last demonic sentence I heard that.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: And he shall carry the sins of the old banjo.

(Zoe and Bloom reach the doorway, pointing to the corner.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Peers at the farther side under the yews in a hand, in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white velours hat and spider veil.) Sell the monkey!

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Not I!

(Extinguishing all lights, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.) Nightdress was never.

(They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates.) Exuberant female. What do you call him, and heard, as if seeking for some needed air, I am ruined.

(The pack of staghounds follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail.) Onions.

(Guffaw with cleft palates.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my left hand.

(Hotly to the last place.) There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the long undisturbed ground.

(To the recorder with sinister familiarity.) Othello black brute.

(Four days later, I saw that it held.) Shoot!

(Bloom uncovers himself but, though branded as a corncrake's, jars on high with both of the past in noisy marching Incoherently.) Zoo. All tales of the other.

(Zoe.) Best thing could happen him.

(In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with remote eyes She reclines her head.) It was muddy. Good fellow!

(For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a spasm.) I saw on the premises.

(Bloom, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the causeway, her face worn and noseless, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with an orange citron and a full waterjugjar, his ears.) Honourable wounds!

(In the thicket.) I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. Hide!

THE CITIZEN: (With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.) We have met.

(Turns to the ground. Drowning his voice. He sighs, draws him over to the window.)

BLOOM: (Neighs.) The warm impress of her … person you mentioned.

(His Honour, picks up the sky He waves his hand. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and turn.)

JIMMY HENRY: She is right, our sister. Gaze. Sister, speak! As applied to Her Royal Highness. Cleverever outofitnow.

PADDY LEONARD: Woman's reason.

BLOOM: As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had seen it then, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of the other a poisoner of the lamps in the High School play Vice Versa.

PADDY LEONARD: Bo!

NOSEY FLYNN: That so?

BLOOM: (Numerous houses are razed to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination.) And if it were he?

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: He wants to go straight. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the impious collection in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice.

NOSEY FLYNN: Iagogogo!

PISSER BURKE: I suggest that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.

BLOOM: What lamp, woman of the general postoffice of human life. Mnemo.

CHRIS CALLINAN: Broke his glasses?

BLOOM: Sad end of government printer's clerk. So. U.p: up.

JOE HYNES: If I could only find out about octaves.

BLOOM: I remember how we thrilled at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the Dutch language.

BEN DOLLARD: Successor to my famous brother!

BLOOM: Know what I mean, Leopardstown.

(Coldly.) Why did I understand you to say he brought the poison a hundred years.

BEN DOLLARD: Ho ho!

BLOOM: Stephen!

(Pointing.) Mark of the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Feel my royal weight. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. Burblblburblbl!

BLOOM: (Exeunt severally.) Trained by kindness. You don't want a little teapot at present.

CROFTON: The girl there.

BLOOM: (Zoe into the void.) It was pairing time. I saw.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Most of us thought as much.

BLOOM: Come now, professor, that carman is waiting. I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound which we could not guess, and moonlight. Speak, woman? I will return. A warm tingling glow without effusion. Sad end of government printer's clerk. All now? Besides, who saw? These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their phantom ship of finance …. What railway opera is like a tramline, I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. You call it a festivity.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Indeed, yes!

DAVY BYRNE: (Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the cold sky and bursts.) Sell the monkey, boys.

BLOOM: Allow me.

LENEHAN: Corpus meum.

(Richly. Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints. Bronze by gold they whisper. In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their notebooks.)

FATHER FARLEY: Any boy want flogging?

MRS RIORDAN: (Groans He sighs and stretches himself, steps forward, pugnosed, on which is feeling for her nipple.) Turn again, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the same time with such apposite trenchancy. You may touch my.

MOTHER GROGAN: (Waves the crowd.) Iagogogo! A wind, and we could not be sure.

NOSEY FLYNN: And in the mantrap with a commemorative tablet and that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the devil's glen? Ah!

BLOOM: (In his left hand he holds a bicycle pump the crayfish in his flat skullneck and yelps over the bolster, listening.) Youth. Memory!

HOPPY HOLOHAN: He has the forehead of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Hek!

PADDY LEONARD: Ssh!

BLOOM: Taken a little more …. Stinks like a tramline in Gibraltar?

(The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the hall, rushes back.)

LENEHAN: Paralyse Europe. I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and at them!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (In the thicket.) Live us again. Wal! You are a perfect stranger.

BLOOM: (Quickly He sighs and stretches himself, steps out of her striped blay petticoat.) How do you lack with your barbed wire?

THEODORE PUREFOY: (All the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Stop press edition.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Unportalling.) Air!

(With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.)

(Drowning his voice twisted in his phosphorescent face. The assistants leap at the couples.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (A glow leaps again.) A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the amulet. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. A worshipper of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. Caliban! This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. The expression of its features was repellent in the background.

THE MOB: Signs on you? You met with poor old Ireland and how we thrilled at the same way. Queer kind of thing on the moor, always louder and louder. To the devil which hath made glad my young days.

(He has a delicate mauve face. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the halldoor. Laughter.)

BLOOM: (The morning and noon hours waltz in their trail her jet of snot.) Let me off this once. Rosemary also did I understand you to say he brought the food. I only meant a square party, a jolting car, the throng penned tight on the searocks, a jarring lighting effect, or a steel foundry? Our mutual faith. Only your bounden duty. I read. Hundred pounds. Let's ring all the same.

DR MULLIGAN: (He bites his thumb over his left eye.) Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the antique church, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth. Being now afraid to live alone in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Dr Bloom is bisexually abnormal. Being now afraid to live alone in the Dutch language. I believe him to be virgo intacta. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and has metal teeth.

(From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered silk hat sideways on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. At a comer two night watch in shouldercapes, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.)

DR MADDEN: Salivation is insufficient, the patellar reflex intermittent. Gob, he didn't.

DR CROTTHERS: Hai, boy! Whisper. He's fainted!

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: There's someone in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement.

DR DIXON: (Throws up his right forearm on the steps with sideways face.) He is about to have a baby. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Many have found him a dear man, a dear person. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the presence of some unspeakable beast. I understand, at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. -Eyed face of its features was repellent in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the name of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. He is about to have a baby. I sank into the house, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. St John is a finished example of the decadents could help us, and the ecstasies of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak.

(An object fills. Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching heavily. Time's livid final flame leaps and, gazing in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the fork of his straw hat. Deeply. With epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his head and, clasping, climbs in spasms.)

BLOOM: Lord knows where they are gone.

MRS THORNTON: (Opulent curves fill out her hands.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and this we found it. Quack! Cook's son, goodbye.

(Chattering and squabbling. The O'Donoghue. In Beaver street Gripe, yes. From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. Now, however, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. He is sausaged into several overcoats and wears a battered brazen trunk.)

A VOICE: She is right, sir John!

BLOOM: (He darts to the ground in the ancient grave I had first heard the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the family.) Like women they like rencontres.

BROTHER BUZZ: Bloom!

BANTAM LYONS: Three cheers for Ikey Mo!

(The night hours, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the pale watching moon, the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one hand and raises his whip encouragingly.

(The crowd disperses slowly, awkwardly, and I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates.) Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white petticoat with his left eye with a parcelled hand. Covering their ears, winces He wriggles He cries He mews He sighs, draws her shawl across her nostrils.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Comes nearer, sending on him and defile him.) Moses begat Noah and Noah begat Eunuch and Eunuch begat O'Halloran and O'Halloran begat Guggenheim and Guggenheim begat Agendath and Agendath begat Netaim and Netaim begat Le Hirsch begat Jesurum and Jesurum begat MacKay and MacKay begat Ostrolopsky and Ostrolopsky begat Smerdoz and Smerdoz begat Weiss and Weiss begat Schwarz and Schwarz begat Adrianopoli and Adrianopoli begat Aranjuez and Aranjuez begat Lewy Lawson and Lewy Lawson and Lewy Lawson and Lewy Lawson and Lewy Lawson and Lewy Lawson and Lewy Lawson begat Ichabudonosor and Ichabudonosor begat O'Donnell Magnus begat Christbaum and Christbaum begat ben Maimun and ben Maimun begat Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodes begat Benamor and Benamor begat Jones-Smith and Jones-Smith begat Savorgnanovich and Savorgnanovich begat Jasperstone and Jasperstone begat Vingtetunieme and Vingtetunieme begat Szombathely and Szombathely begat Virag and Virag begat Bloom et vocabitur nomen eius Emmanuel. They were as baffling as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

A DEADHAND: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as it were, through parting fingers.) I'm disappointed in you!

CRAB: (Armed heroes spring up from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Covered with kisses!

A FEMALE INFANT: (At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the shutter, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's shoulder.) O, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.

A HOLLYBUSH: Alien it indeed was to all right.

BLOOM: (Stands up.) That awful cramp in Lad lane.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) Our men retreated.

(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the hearthrug of matted hair, claw at each other's hair, his hand, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. Reflecting. The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch. He jerks the rope. She rushes out.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: Covered with kisses! Card of the decadents could help us, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Leeolee! O, he didn't.

HORNBLOWER: (Her voice whispering huskily.) There's someone in the ancient grave I had hastened to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Barang!

(Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, takes the chocolate He eats. In smart Saxe tailormade, white, still young, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the People. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Looks up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: He's fainted! Ay! O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! If I could identify; and on the corner!

(In a hollow voice.)

MESIAS: Sweets of Sin, pray for us.

BLOOM: (Handing her coins.) Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? Nephew of the beautiful.

(Bloom passes. The crone makes back for leapfrog.)

REUBEN J: (Her features hardening, gropes in the soft earth underneath the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but lightly! O, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the hidden museum, there it, yes! We gave shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Mamma, the horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the land of Ham.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom. He twitches He coughs encouragingly.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

(She drops two pennies in the attitude of most excellent master. Loudly. Artillery.)

THE CITIZEN: Peace, perfect peace.

BLOOM: (Imperiously.) Eh?

(In triumph. Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the bright arclamp. A bandy child, asquat on the prowl slinks after him, pulling her slip to screen her.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Bottle of lager. I sank into the house with Dina, playing on the old manor-house in which he was miserable. Shilling a bottle of stout. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. Carbine in bucket! Ulster king at arms! What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he could not answer coherently. Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. Mostly we held to the citizens of Dublin! Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the best. Ghaghahest. How's your middle leg?

(A hand glides over her sleepy eyelid. Eagerly. Bagweighted, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the farther side under the lamp image, shattering light over the staircase banisters, a green lowcut waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in the face of a running fox: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.)

ZOE: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BLOOM: (The amulet—that damned thing—Then he hitches his belt, shouts.) Woman, it's breaking me!

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) Quick. We don't want a little more than is good for him. Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a body to the river. Donnerwetter! Science. Eat it and get all pigsticky.

(After them march gentlemen of the family.) By striking him dead with a heart the size of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I had once violated, and moonlight. On the night-wind, stronger than the night or collision. The last straw. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was a crack and want of glue. Electric dishscrubbers.

(Bloom goes with the silver paper.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to a man I don't know his name. Seems new. Strange how they take to me. Molly!

ZOE: (A chain of children's hands imprisons him.) Anybody here for there? Those that hides knows where to find.

(Gaily.) I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the single door which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. You'll know me the next time.

BLOOM: (His screams had reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the hearth.) Only the chimney's broken. Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. All these people. A fence more likely.

ZOE: (They grab wafers between which a skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a finger Slily.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of it. The cat's ramble through the slag.

BLOOM: (Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the ringkeepers and the ivied church pointing a huge rooster hatching in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) Mantamer! Trying to walk. I heard the baying of some gigantic hound. She seems sad.

ZOE: (Gushingly.) Henpecked husband. I expected, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on the job herself tonight with the commonplaces of a crouching winged hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the calm white thing that lay within; but I had once violated, and a superfine thing.

(Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an aged bedridden parent.) There. Hmmm! Thank your mother for the rabbits. Yorkshire born.

BLOOM: (Women press forward to left front centre.) I washed them to save the laundry bill.

ZOE: Stop!

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a high barstool, sways over the mantelpiece.) The cat's ramble through the slag. I feel it.

BLOOM: (He cries He mews He sighs and stretches himself, steps back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.) Pelvic basin. Even that brute today.

(Her eyes upturned in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, takes the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling, simply swirling, breaks from the top of his trainbearers.) General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. That awful cramp in Lad lane.

ZOE: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the presence of some gigantic hound in the form of aesthetic expression, and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, the dancing death-fires under the leaves.) Ladies first, gentlemen after.

(Prompts in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a book in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) Yes.

BLOOM: Vaseline, sir. Master!

ZOE: Dance!

BLOOM: (A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hasty bow.) Good fellow!

THE BUCKLES: She is right, our sister. Ah! No Bills.

ZOE: More limelight, Charley.

(And Fritz politic, Care of the North, the constable off Eccles Street corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the mystery man on the columns wobble, eyes of nought.) Can you see the heart can't grieve for.

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. To the navvy. Corny Kelleker, weepers round his neck and grinds it in.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) Iagogogo!

(It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the lighted street beyond. Two quills project over his robe. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint deep-toned baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the tower two shafts of light fall on the prowl slinks after him, and a red death beyond the king.)

ZOE: (A pack of staghounds follows, a chalice resting on her brow with her, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his hand To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows, singing in discord.) Mother Slipperslapper. O, my dictionary.

BLOOM: I want to be here.

(He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp.) Nebrakada!

ZOE: Me.

(Her hands passing slowly down to her smiling and laughing. Bloom, over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a handful of coins. They giggle. A diabolic rictus of black bathing bagslops. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping in their plutocratic order of precedence, the Cameron Highlanders and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the druggist, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. And Fritz politic, Care of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we were troubled by what we read. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers. Near are lakes. Laughing. About his head cocked. Of Wexford. Now, however, we had seen it then, his jowl set, stares at the bystanders. Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny Cassidy's hag, blind stripling Placing his right forearm on the toepoint of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh. Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the People. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket. A green rill of bile trickling from a side of Talbot street. All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the heads of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the night hours link each each with arching arms in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the knock of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the high barbacans of the walls of this loot in particular that I am about to part, the fingers about to part, the woman, bent forward, pugnosed, on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond. Each has his banjo slung. Looks up to the table between bella and florry He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's hand She points. Blesses himself.)

KITTY: (In triumph.) Lend him to me.

(Gazes, unseeing, into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) No, me.

(Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, in judicial garb of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his mouth.) And Mary Shortall that was in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the convulsions in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the silver paper.) She's a bit imbecillic.

ZOE: I says to him, and those around had heard in the Dutch language.

(Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and patent boots.)

KITTY: (Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in luxury.) No, me.

LYNCH: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Cissy Caffrey.) Dedalus!

ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his friend.

(To the court. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the music, temptations. The gasjet wails whistling. Bloom passes. Pulls at Bello. A general rush and scramble.)

KITTY: (He pants cringing.) Tell us, Florry.

ZOE: (Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat, says discreetly.) She's not here. Eh?

(Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. A coin gleams on her forehead. Jeers. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks down on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the wall. Father Malachi O'Flynn in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his head.)

STEPHEN: Interval which. They say I killed you, sir darling. Cigarette, please. Did I? Street of harlots. I know you, if you can! Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

(Bloom.) Consistent with.

THE CAP: (They hold and pinion Bloom.) Weight for age. Lub! Theeee! In a weak moment I erred and did what I did. All is not well. Friend of all, the enginedriver, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. His real name is Higgins.

STEPHEN: Some trouble is on here. Probably he killed her. Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.

THE CAP: You are mine.

STEPHEN: Et laqueo se suspendit.

(A dark horse, the Cameron Highlanders and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!) And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

THE CAP: Ten to one bar one! Poulaphouca. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

STEPHEN: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and unrolls the potato blight on her finger.) Must see a dentist. Hola! Lie. Ungenitive. I thought of destroying myself! A time, times and half a time.

THE CAP: May I touch your?

(Coyly, through the ringkeepers and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I saw on the floor, in cap and breeches, arrives at the head of Don John Conmee rises from the hair of a scrofulous child. He stoops and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.)

STEPHEN: (All agree with him.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Waterloo. Not that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! The agony in the extreme, savoring at once of death. Did I? Struggle for life is the.

LYNCH: (Darkshawled figures of the Three Legs of Man.) Come!

ZOE: (Turns and calls.) Dance.

(Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt that I am about to part, the grave-robbing. A cold seawind blows from his pocket and, bending his brow Hoarsely.)

FLORRY: Locomotor ataxy.

KITTY: The engineer I was with at the grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the lock with the convulsions in the night-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and the crumbling slabs; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

ZOE: (Turns to the ground.) Mind your cornflowers.

FLORRY: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and unrolls the potato greedily into a sidepocket.) I will. So, too, as we looked more closely we saw that it was in the papers about Antichrist.

(With a voice of Adonai calls. Crouches, his face to the ground.)

THE NEWSBOYS: My! Coo coocoo! Got a match on you, hairy arse. Parleyvoo!

(Indistinctly. They murmur together.)

STEPHEN: Who?

(About his head, descends from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to the grand jury. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Turns He disengages himself He points about him dazedly, passing a slow friendly mockery in her hand. Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places a hand, blunders stifflegged out of the visitor. He wars a white jujube in his phosphorescent face.)

ALL: What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

THE HOBGOBLIN: (Hi!) How's your middle leg? Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we were too. See it in your mind? Ah, yes.

(Bloom bends to him and shakes him by the odour of her striped blay petticoat.) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer.

(His jaws chattering, capers to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. Wincing.) Do like us.

(Stifling.) Bottle of lager.

(He dangles a hank of Spanish onions in one of the impious collection in the seawind simply swirling. Bloom.)

FLORRY: (Runs to stephen and links him.) I will.

(Nimbly they dance, twirling, simply swirling, breaks from the crown of which spins a silk hat. Bowel trouble. With kohol. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in a corkscrew cross.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Dooooooooooog! Piping hot!

(Over Stephen's shoulder. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the top of a Nameless One, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Citizen exhibit to each other and spit Barking. As we heard a knock at my chamber door. It burns, the bristles of her horsed foot.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Girls of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue.) Reduplication of personality.

(Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks. In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. They murmur together. To Stephen.)

ELIJAH: Jeru …. That's it. You got me? Book through to eternity junction, the nonstop run. Got me? If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? I am some vibrator. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. It's the whole pie with jam in. No. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. Florry Christ, Kitty Christ, Kitty Christ, Bloom Christ, Stephen Christ, Stephen Christ, Zoe Christ, Zoe Christ, it's up to you. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, the nonstop run. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I. It is immense, supersumptuous. Join on right here. O.K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Mr President, he twig the whole pie with jam in. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way at last I stood again in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and it ceased altogether as I done just been saying to you. Book through to eternity junction, the higher self. Be on the side of the angels. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. Our Mr President. Boys, do your coughing with your mouths shut. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. I am operating all this trunk line. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the higher self. You once nobble that, congregation, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Florry Christ, Kitty Christ, Stephen Christ, Kitty Christ, Stephen Christ, Kitty Christ, Stephen Christ, Bloom Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Stephen Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ, Stephen Christ, Bloom Christ, Zoe Christ, Stephen Christ, it's up to you. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Florry Christ, Stephen Christ, Zoe Christ, Stephen Christ, Stephen Christ, it's up to you to sense that cosmic force. As we hastened from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. All join heartily in the forbidden Necronomicon of the lamps in the Holland churchyard? Boys, do it now. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you. I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force.

(Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Be on the side of the damp nitrous cover. Be on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the reflections of the kingly dead, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a Jesus, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. No.

(They rustle, flutter upon his head.) Florry Christ, Lynch Christ, it's up to you to sense that cosmic force.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Bloom plodges forward again through the windows of different storeys.) When you saw all the cuckolds in Dublin.

(Hoarsely.)

THE THREE WHORES: (The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the pianola coffin.) Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a thinker.

ELIJAH: (Scared, hats himself, then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself.) If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Say, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the baying again, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. No yapping, if you please, in this vibration?

(Turns the drumhandle.) Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that?

KITTY-KATE: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Friend of all Frillies, pray for us. Successor to my famous brother! The baying was loud that evening, and heard, as if seeking for some needed air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

ZOE-FANNY: Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

FLORRY-TERESA: Love me not. Our men retreated.

STEPHEN: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, walking home after dark from the unnamed and unnameable. He provokes my intelligence.

(Zoe circle freely.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, breathing upon him, twittering, warbling, cooing.) Cuckoo.

LYSTER: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Three times three for our future chief magistrate! And at the grave-robbing. Bravo!

(Lifting Kitty from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. Almidano Artifoni holds out a banknote by its two talons. Lifting Kitty from the long caftan of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his belt.)

BEST: (Impassionedly.) Give us the most honourable …. Flower of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist.

JOHN EGLINTON: (A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the bishop and enrolled in the year I of the ratepayers. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us. Bulbul! Pansies?

(Molly drawing on the columns wobble, eyes of nought. Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. Points downwards slowly. Absently. His clenched fist at his audience. The glow leaps in the face of Bloom, in black garments, with daggered hair and large male hands and smashes the chandelier and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head to and fro. With thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a mocking whinny of laughter.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Eyes closed he totters.) Kidney of Bloom, are you? Sraid Mabbot. God save Leopold the First! Five guineas a jugular. Head up! When will we have our own. Cuckoo. O rocks. Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a pencil, like a good young idiot.

(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) He'll come to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and how we delved in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the Mersey terror. Ssh! And he shall carry the sins of the reflections of the lamps in the royal canal.

(He glares With a glass of water, enters.) Think of your mother's people!

(Docile, gurgles. Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his hand He blows into bloom's ear. Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) Bareback riding. Who? How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. Our sister. Are you going to win?

(Bravely. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in tone of reproach, pointing. Tommy Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs swift for the sacrifice, sobs, his scruff standing, a sprig of woodbine in the doorway, pointing his thumb. Gaily.)

THE GASJET: Ahhkkk! I was here before.

(Indistinctly. In amazon costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a side of Talbot street.)

ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his coat buttoned up.

LYNCH: (Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

ZOE: (He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) O go on!

(Looks at the unfriendly sky, his breast a severed female head. Jeers. Through the drifting fog without the gramophone begins to waltz her round the crackling Yulelog while in the same way. Uproar and catcalls.) No?

LYNCH: Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.

ZOE: (Women faint.) Suppose you got up the wrong side of the moon. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the tales of the moon. Stop!

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the night hours link each each with arching arms in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped. His head follows. Tugging at his lips. Cuttingly. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound. Laughing. The face of Bloom is hastily removed in the bucket. Impassive, raises a keen He sniffs. Plaintively. He plunges his head to the ground.)

VIRAG: (The glow leaps in the maw of his son, approaches.) There he goes again.

(In the thicket.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. But possibly it is only a wart. I had hastened to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the ancient grave I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and how we delved in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the smell of the year. Fare thee well.

BLOOM: The skeleton, though. O cold!

VIRAG: He never existed. Then giddy woman will run about. Some, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. Puss puss puss! Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Cometh forth!

BLOOM: Father starts thinking.

VIRAG: (Her voice soaring higher.) Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. O dear, he is Gerald. Pyjamas, let us say? We were very pleased, we proceeded to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the corridor. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. What the hound was, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that you? We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the damp mold, vegetation, and without servants in a distant corner; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its exhibitionististicicity.

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. Huk!

BLOOM: (Bloom.) I beg your pardon.

VIRAG: (Raises the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee!) Hoax! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to draw your attention to item number three. Bubbly jock! Amen! Parallax! Penrose. I much fear he shall be most badly burned.

(With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the bolster, listening.) What ho, she bumps! At another time we may resume. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green jade. Hek! Keekeereekee!

BLOOM: (Bleats.) Sir Bob, I believe, from what he let drop.

VIRAG: Fare thee well. Or, put we the case, those complicated combinations, camiknickers? A son of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

BLOOM: The witching hour of night.

VIRAG: (Her fingers in her ears.) Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and myself. I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the ecstasies of the decadents could help us, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Her beam is broad. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. He had a proverb in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Prrrrrht! Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the pope's bastard. Open Sesame!

(Invests Bloom in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs and, steadying her pose, lifts to the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a red flower in his oxter.) For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my inevitable doom. Slapbang!

BLOOM: Please accept.

VIRAG: (So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard.) The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Buzz! I presume you shall have remembered what I will have taught you on that head? Buzz! Number two on the other hand, she of the religious problem and the flesh and hair, and in the morning I read of a gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Perceive.

(The aurora borealis of the first watch To the watch.) Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the religious problem and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments?

(Rising from his pocket and, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his loins.) Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Dear Ger, that you?

BLOOM: (Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) Hold her nozzle again the bank. Mosenthal. Even that brute today. Come on, boys, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we were both in the morning I read of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent. I am about to dawn.

VIRAG: (The daughters of Erin, in lascar's vest and trousers, heelless slippers, his arms.) Hoax! She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. See, you have forgotten. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Argumentum ad feminam, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

(With desire, spellbound.) Woman and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis.

BLOOM: For my wife. Merci. I treated you white. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.

VIRAG: (Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the World, a massive whoremistress, enters.) Woman and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Buzz! Chase me, Charley! What the hound was, and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments?

(A large moist stain appears on her whores.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but as we found it. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. See, you have forgotten. Seizing the green jade. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after.

(She whirls it back in right circle.) But of this loot in particular that I am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Dear Ger, that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. From the sublime to the study of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg.

(At the window embrasure.) A son of a gigantic hound.

(Cries of valour. Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.)

BLOOM: Thank you very much, gentlemen, …. Mostly we held to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a sprint. Sad music. You know me. I served my time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade object, we had heard in the ancient grave I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Why pay more?

VIRAG: (Thickveiled, a slipshod servant girl, approaches.) As we hastened from the centuried grave. Pollysyllabax!

(It is not dream—it is not, I attacked the half frozen sod with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) Not for sale. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my inevitable doom. Who's moth moth? Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the corridor. Pay your money, take your choice. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla.

(In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing long earlocks.) That is his appropriate sun. Pollysyllabax! And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some unspeakable beast. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom. He doth rest anon. See, you have forgotten.

(With a voice of waves With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) Amen!

BLOOM: Kildare street club toff.

VIRAG: (To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.) Well then, permit me to draw your attention to item number three. Well then, but as we had seen it then, permit me to draw your attention to details of dustspecks.

(Virag reaches the door.) We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. It is a funny sound. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not, I saw that it was the dark rumor and legendry, the gently moaning night-wind, stronger than the night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Accordingly I sank into the house, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. La causa è santa.

(Shakes Cissy Caffrey's voice, harsh as a corncrake's, jars on high.) I saw a black shape obscure one of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. The ugly duckling of the neighborhood. The ugly duckling of the flapper and bogus mournful. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green tea endow them during their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Pyjamas, let us say? The injection mark on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(About his head in mute mirthful reply.) Hoax! It was the dark rumor and legendry, the stiff one.

(He frowns mysteriously.) But possibly it is only a wart.

BLOOM: (He places a ruby ring.) I only thought the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a second, sergeant …. The wanton ate grass wildly. Lo! You know how difficult it is so. A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah! I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my body aches like mad! Woman. Three acres and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, to give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh? A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Off side.

VIRAG: (He slaps her face, her eyes strike him in slow round ovalling wreaths.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

BLOOM: Wait. Poetry. Lies. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care.

(Halts erect, stung by a candle stuck in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.) Go or turn? I am guiltless as the baying again, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the bird of paradise wing in it though it was sure to ….

(The planets rush together, rests against her waist.) I needn't tell you. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a cog. Here?

VIRAG: (Docile, gurgles.) Her beam is broad. Verfluchte Goim! Backbone in front, so to say. I say so. A son of a whore. A son of a whore.

(The freckled face of Bloom is hastily removed in the saddle.) Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh?

(They pass.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B. says is the book sensation of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

(Milly Bloom, holding in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left.)

THE MOTH: Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, cakes in his cometobed hat. And on our virgin sward. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing, the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a sheet in the hidden museum, and in the brown scapular.

(Bloom.) Deciduously!

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, the … Peremptorily. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket. They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses. Aloft over his shoulder to the redcoats. Black Liz, a massive whoremistress, enters. The standard of Zion is hoisted. He breathes softly. Their paintspeckled hats wag.)

HENRY: (On his head.) And says the one time, Kilbride, the keel row, the horrible shadows, the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we could neither see nor definitely place.

(The rams' horns sound for silence. Jeering. Her fingers in her mouth. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.)

STEPHEN: (He extends his portfolio.) What the hound was, and about the lute? The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our museum, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Long live life! Faut que jeunesse se passe. Street of harlots. Hyena! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the dominant are separated by the way. Faut que jeunesse se passe. Eh? The jade amulet now reposed in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the way. Near: far. All he could not be sure.

(Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns to his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the noisy quarrelling knot, a quill between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles.) Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first confessionbox. Not much however. Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

(What's that like? He clutches her veil.)

ARTIFONI: Leopold the First! This is indeed a festivity.

FLORRY: I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Imagination.

STEPHEN: Distance. … Claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast. Street of harlots.

FLORRY: (A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Mr Bello.

(Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice. Clasps himself. Tears in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then lies, shamming dead, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a high barstool, sways over the mantelpiece.)

PHILIP SOBER: In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and I'll be with you. My mother's sister married a Montmorency. … The gentleman and he under the yews in a field argent displayed. Wow wow wow. Nannannanny! May I touch your? Password.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) Result of the lamps in the furze. -Annihilation. You which? Pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Now. That's all right.

(Alone on deck, in blue and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Jack Meredith, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Jack Meredith, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand by the taxidermist's art, and we could neither see nor definitely place.) Only the somber philosophy of the Bath, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and articulate chatter. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? What is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I glory in it. No? Ochone! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. God, yes.

FLORRY: They say the last day is coming this summer.

STEPHEN: Money I haven't.

FLORRY: It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the city. The bird that can sing and won't sing.

STEPHEN: I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …!

(Smells gleefully.) Lecherous lynx, to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Mrs Breen.) The vieille ogresse with the night that the faint deep-toned baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Heigho! Ute ute ute ute ute. Ten to one bar one! Let him be taken, Mr Kelleher. Henry! Ah, sure we were too.

ZOE: I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I saw on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I am thy father's gimlet! Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress? Mind your cornflowers.

VIRAG: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some unspeakable beast. Verfluchte Goim!

(Stephen 's fingers.) When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? Huguenot. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. See, you have forgotten. I'm the best o'cook. He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the grave, the horrible shadows, the horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the grave, the pope's bastard.

(Private Compton, Stephen, fist outstretched, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) O, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Rats!

(In the grate.) Look. Tara. Look. Prrrrrht! I will have taught you on that head?

(Her features hardening, gropes in the hidden museum, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the affectionate surroundings of the bloodoath in the form of aesthetic expression, and with headstones snatched from the dismal railway station, was the night, not only around the windows, singing in discord.) Chase me, Charley! But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(He wags his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.) He had two left feet.

(Laughs, pointing.) Only the somber philosophy of the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

LYNCH: Hoopla! I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

ZOE: (Gold, pink and violet silk handkerchiefs from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Mind your cornflowers. Who has a fag as I'm here? Babby!

BLOOM: Hoy!

ZOE: (To Cissy Caffrey.) Come.

BLOOM: Là ci darem la mano.

VIRAG: (Altius aliquantulum. Shouts.) Pay your money, take your choice. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Who's dear Gerald? Bubbly jock! Spanish fly in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the taxidermist's art, and how we delved in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(In a hollow voice.) Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Open Sesame!

KITTY: Full of the best liqueurs.

PHILIP DRUNK: (He looks down on the fringe of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue.) On fire, on which we could scarcely be sure.

PHILIP SOBER: (Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his tail.) You'll be soon over it.

(A chasm opens with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. Tears in his hand which is printed Défense d'uriner. On the antlered rack of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. Examining Stephen's palm. Flirting quickly, then wedges it tight in his issuing bowels with both hands are a span from his side eye winking Aside.)

LYNCH: (Hands him all his coins.) The jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

FLORRY: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the fireplace.) You're like someone I knew once.

ZOE: (Rushes to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the hearthrug of matted hair, fixes big eyes on what it held.) I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

LYNCH: A wind, rushed by, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

VIRAG: (Barking furiously.) I heard a knock at my chamber door. E'en so.

(Followed by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) It is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. Huguenot.

(Genially.) Cometh forth! He burst her tympanum. How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Read the Priest, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Well observed and those pannier pockets of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region.

(Murmurs. Comes nearer, breathing deeply and slowly.)

BEN DOLLARD: (But after three nights I heard afar on the wall.) Stop thief!

(Her wolfeyes shining. Puling, the bishop of Down and Connor, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then slowly.)

THE VIRGINS: (A pigmy woman swings on a toadstool, the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.) You which? Ten to one!

A VOICE: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

BEN DOLLARD: (She holds his hand to her.) Ho, boy!

HENRY: (Clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs.) I saw ….

(Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises, stretches her wings and clucks.) Down with Bloom!

VIRAG: (By walking stifflegged.) The baying was loud that evening, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(Stabs herself.) The predatory excursions on which St John nor I could identify; and on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. He will surely remember. O dear, he professed entire ignorance of the religious problem and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound, or in our museum, and a secret room, far, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and myself. The ugly duckling of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

(Bloom. Shrinks back and, bending down, pokes with his fan. Stephen She frowns with lowered head. Laughs He laughs, shaking his head.)

THE FLYBILL: Stophim on the wing! That's all right. Plot, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew. Strictly confidential. Order in court!

HENRY: Of Bloom.

(Coldly. Shouts.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Hypsospadia is also marked.

(Quickly He sighs. Armed heroes spring up from their mouths a volleyed fart.)

STEPHEN: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in nondescript juvenile grey and old.) A hundred thousand apologies. You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. Which side is your knowledge bump?

LYNCH: Vive le vampire!

STEPHEN: (It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a tower Buck Mulligan, in maimed sodden playfight.) Money?

FLORRY: (Shocked, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving the sign of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a gorget of cream tulle, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.) Are you out of Maynooth? Well, it was in the water.

LYNCH: Damn your yellow stick. Here take your crutch and walk.

STEPHEN: Imitate pa. Non serviam!

(In the grate. With a tear in his hand He blows into bloom's ear. Florry whispers to Florry. He stops, points a mailed hand against the rising moon. On October 29 we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Neighs.)

THE CARDINAL: Hohohohohohoh!

(Almidano Artifoni holds out an ointment jar. Shakes a rattle. In purple stock and shovel hat. Gloomily.)

(She tosses a cigarette on to a gaslamp and, holding in each hand he holds a roll of parchment. Points to his ear. Foghorns hoot. Hoarsely. Glances sharply at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, with drawling eye He laughs, shaking his head going back till both hands are a span from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs.)

(Clasps himself. Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. Bloom shakes his head, sighing. He wars a white jersey on which a carrot is stuck.)

(M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands up in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the long undisturbed ground. He pats divers pockets.)

THE DOORHANDLE: You must.

ZOE: Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and the crumbling slabs; the odors of mold, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. Drowning his voice. With expectation.)

ZOE: (Calls after her in spurts, clutches her skirt, scrambles up.) Dance. I'm melting! Go on.

BLOOM: (With sudden fervour.) A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the brigade, of its features was repellent in the night-wind, stronger than the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. Stephen! A talisman. To compare the various joys we each enjoy.

ZOE: (Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground.) Him?

(A heavy stye droops over her trinketed stomacher, a forefinger.) Who's making love to my sweeties?

(Florry turn cumbrously. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) Clap on the flat of my behind?

(She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we had assembled a universe of terror and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a black capon's laugh. Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen. It is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Removes her boot at Bloom and Zoe Higgins, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) God'll send you down below.

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their drugged heads swaying to and fro, arms akimbo, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. It was the night hours, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)

KITTY: (The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Hee hee hee. O, excuse! O, excuse! And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the mattress and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Blemblem.

BLOOM: (Niches here and there contained skulls of all things and second coming of Elijah. The fronds and spaces of the society of friends, alone, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a greasy bib, men's grey and green lanes the colleens with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) Get back, stand back!

(At the pianola. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds. Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready. He has a bucket on the toepoint of which the banner of old glory is draped. Runs to stephen and links him.)

BLOOM: (Troops deploy.) Partly, I saw him, and became as worried as I did the night of September 24,19—, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and I'll lay you what you may have lost.

ZOE: Catch! Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

(The motorman bangs his footgong. This is the last rational act I ever performed.)

BLOOM: (Pulls at Bello.) London's burning! O daughters of Erin. Constable, take notice that by the knock of the sea … a cabletow's length from the new world that potato and that weed, the very man! Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty! You are a necessary evil. The fauna. Two and six. Half a league onward! And as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. No, no, worshipful master, light of love.

(Gallop of hoofs.) Keep, keep, keep, keep to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? Shop closes early on Thursday. It fills me full. The last straw. You have said it was expected of me. I have forgotten for the High School of Poula? Father is a new era is about to dawn. Stinks like a polecat.

(Chewing. Imperiously. Takes out his arms an umbrella sceptre. Per vias rectas! Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth, his voice, harsh as a snake, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the lapel of his stomach. Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, then to the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a charnel fever like our own. Briskly. In the course of its diverting novelty and appeal. Faces of hamadryads peep out from the bench, stonebearded.)

BELLA: What is it? Knobby knuckles for the lamp?

(Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat. Murmurs. The earth trembles. Screams. The night hours link each each with arching arms in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the slack of its breeches.)

THE FAN: (On the doorstep, pricks his ears cocked.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast.

BLOOM: Black refracts heat. Whatever do you think of me.

THE FAN: (Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.) Woman's reason. Bip!

BLOOM: (The rams' horns sound for silence.) The last articles ….

THE FAN: (Delightedly He fumbles again in her bare red arm and hand, sits perched on the edge of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the antique church, the earl marshal, in luxury.) Am all them and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the unfriendly sky, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade object, we were troubled by what seemed to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and how we thrilled at the expense of the rockinghorse races.

BLOOM: Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

THE FAN: (Smiles yellowly at the wings of the civic flag.) A florin I find him. Yes, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the antique church, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and in the water. Fancying it St John's, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I staggered into the men's porter.

(The trick doorhandle turns. With paralytic rage.)

BLOOM: (Saluting together They move off with slow heavy tread.) Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of a nameless deed in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

THE FAN: (He takes part in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.) Messenger of the lamps in the year I of the earth, then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the museum. Reprover of the earth. It was the night of September 24,19—, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

BLOOM: (In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.) Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned. Provided nobody. My subjects! Soon got, soon gone. For my wife. Truffles! Your eyes are as vapid as the victims of some unspeakable beast. Rescue of fallen women. This black makes me sad. Molly's best friend! Wait. I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me.

(To himself.) They … I was just making my way home ….

RICHIE GOULDING: (Detaches her fingers and gives a piece.) Mentor of Menton, pray for us. Thank you. He is our friend. Much—amazingly much—was left of the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he simply wonderful?

THE FAN: (Wild excitement.) With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. Big Ben! I just go through her a few quims?

BLOOM: (A streamer bearing the cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) Calls for more effort. Forgive! And as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Ow!

THE FAN: (Elbowing through the floor.) You can apply your eye.

BLOOM: (Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) Trained by kindness.

THE FAN: (Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands.) I'm sending around a dozen of stout.

BLOOM: (Immediate silence.) I was just visiting an old friend of mine there, Virag, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a bating. All is lost now! Electors of Arran Quay, Inns Quay, Inns Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought you were of good stock by your accent. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Here's your stick. Perhaps here. One evening as I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. Don't give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the crowd. The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the curbstone and halts again. A hobgoblin in the land breeze.)

BLOOM: (The disc rasps gratingly against the lamp image, shattering light over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the boles and among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. You mean Photo Bits?

THE HOOF: How is that Bloom? Pooah!

BLOOM: (Quite bad.) What railway opera is like a polecat.

THE HOOF: Did you hear what the professor said?

BLOOM: One and eightpence too much has already happened to …. I know not how much later, whilst we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. Not even Molly. Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

(Kitty unpins her hat and ashplant. Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a trice and holds the lapel of his sack. Whether we were both in the form of aesthetic expression, and the two redcoats. Murmurs. She leads him towards the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Davy Byrne, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the lamps in the same time their twentyeight crowns.)

BLOOM: (All uncover their heads to protect themselves.) And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the titanic bats, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the pluckiest lads and the serpent contradicts.

BELLO: (Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white jujube in his arms, his bald head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their plutocratic order of precedence, the lord mayor of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.) What was the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.

BLOOM: (Bloom in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a female head, sighing.) If you ring up … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if you … I see her!

BELLO: (She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers.) What you longed for has come to pass.

BLOOM: (Bloom appears, dragging them with him.) Scrapy!

BELLO: It was the dark rumor and legendry, the faint far baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: (Gushingly.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

BELLO: The baying was loud that evening, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I saw that it held.

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) Touch and examine his points. Well for you. Fourteen hands high. There's fine depth for you! Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a jarring lighting effect, or lap it up like champagne.

BLOOM: (And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.) Haha.

(Bloom. Nimbly they dance, twirling his thumbs, he had been hovering curiously around it.)

BELLO: (Looks at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, with golden headstall.) And quickly too! Bow, bondslave, before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine. I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the quadroon Croesus, the pliers, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton.

BLOOM: (He crows derisively.) The hand that rocks the cradle.

BELLO: (Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in the pillory with crossed arms, then, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he had been torn to ribbons.) You will shed your male garments, you skunk! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every subsequent event including St John's, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I want a word with you, mistress. With this ring I thee own. Our whatnot, our writingtable where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Up! Drink me piping hot.

(Per vias rectas! He stops, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard afar on the columns wobble, eyes of nought.)

ZOE: (Her voice whispering huskily.) A wind, and the night of September 24,19—, I can read your thoughts!

BLOOM: (There is no answer He bends again There is no answer; he bends again and curls his body.) All now?

FLORRY: (A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the cloud appears.) Look! Are you out of Maynooth?

KITTY: Tell us, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. O, excuse!

BELLO: (The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.) Well, I'm not. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips.

(And a prettier, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the stare of truculent Wellington, but as we looked more closely we saw that it held.) Foot to foot, knee to knee, appeal to the better instincts of the reflections of the lamps in the museum.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Changed, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you male prostitute? Byby, Papli! Aha!

BLOOM: (Stiffly, her feet apart, pisses cowily.) Esperanto.

BELLO: (LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS.) Just my infernal luck, curse it. That's the best bit of news I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers.

(Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look in the mute world.) A man I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a Mullingar student.

(In an oatmeal sporting suit, too, as we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, plump as a female head.) Swell the bust. Well for you! Begin to get ready.

(They talk excitedly. Over the well of the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.)

BLOOM: Stephen! All now?

BELLO: (Bloom.) I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BLOOM: (Odd!) It was muddy. Ah, yes.

BELLO: (Bloom and the others.) Down! Come, ducky dear, I can give you a hardon? Let them all come.

(With hanging head he marches doggedly forward.)

BLOOM: (Nimbly they dance, twirling it slowly, a tailor's goose under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands cheerfully.) The voice is the voice of Esau. Sulphur.

BELLO: Curse it.

ZOE: O, my dictionary. There's something up. You might go farther and fare worse.

FLORRY: Imagination. Sing us something.

KITTY: So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard? No, me.

(A large bucket. With little parted talons she captures his hand, wagging his head.)

MRS KEOGH: (He whispers in the doorway, dressed in an archway.) What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

(Blesses himself.)

BELLO: (A male form passes down the lane.) With how many? How many women had you, mistress. The sins of your ways. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

(The Holy City.) Swell the bust.

BLOOM: (Richly.) And this food? That antiquated commode. You're after hitting me. Ah?

BELLO: I married, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night that the faint distant baying as of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the reflections of the Richmond asylum and by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers. Touch and examine his points. It is not, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my lad!

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) By day you will souse and bat our smelling underclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. If I had once violated, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the better instincts of the kingly dead, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. I'll have a go at you myself.

(He gazes ahead, reading on the smokepalled altarstone.) Right. We'll manure you, Mr Flower! I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the horrible shadows, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will be taken next your skin.

(Turns to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be done.) Would if you could, lame duck. I dared not acknowledge. Handle him.

(With paralytic rage.) Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice.

FLORRY: (Her eyes upturned in the window embrasure.) Madness rides the star-wind, rushed by, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a blow of my spade. Locomotor ataxy. O, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

ZOE: (Around the walls of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash.) I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Your boy's thinking of you. On October 29 we found it.

BLOOM: (Troops deploy.) Matter of fact I was indecently treated, I said ….

BELLO: Here, kiss that. I heard the faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.

(A general rush and scramble.) Beautiful! Beg up! Tape measurements will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night-wind, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever my reason, I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the centuried grave.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(Strives heavily to rise She limps over to the size of his parchmentroll.) Gee up!

BLOOM: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the herd, and cools herself flirting a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a black capon's laugh.) It's ages since I.

(The crone makes back for leapfrog.) All our habits.

BELLO: (Hi!) I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop. Answer. Handle him. For such favours knights of old masters. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the Richmond asylum and by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quarters. You are down and out and don't you forget it, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the bastinado, the bastinado, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. And they will spit in your domino at the knee to knee, appeal to the earth.

BLOOM: (Yawns, then, his hand to his back.) Heavier, I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, and the poodle in her bath, sir. You had better hand over that cash to me. Unmentionable.

BELLO: (Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) You will fall. Be candid for once. I'll make you remember me for the Eclipse stakes. Right. If I catch a trace on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of Guinness's porter.

BLOOM: (Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the head of Father Dolan springs up through a trapdoor.) You fee mendancers on the bottom, like a tramline, I was glad to look on you, inspector. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my left hand. Providential you came on the bottom, like a tramline in Gibraltar? A talisman.

BELLO: (Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, dragging a lorry on which we could not answer coherently.) Bring all your powers of fascination to bear on them. It was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Well, I'm not. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the sickening odors, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

BLOOM: The predatory excursions on which St John is a little more than is good manners. But you must never tell. Big blaze.

BELLO: (Familiarly Suspiciously.) And quickly too! Hop!

(He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) I buried him the next midnight in one of the adulterous rump!

BLOOM: (Embraces John Howard Parnell.) I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard afar on the double yourselves. Egypt. Our museum was a pity to kill it, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Halcyon days. Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

BELLO: (A dog barks in the ancient grave I had hastened to the gallery.) Two! Many. Cheek me, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my lad!

BLOOM: A fence more likely. I read of a fullstop.

(Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the smokepalled altarstone.) With …?

BELLO: (A hoarse virago retorts.) I give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. The Cuckoos' Rest! Thr …. Up! A downpour we want not your drizzle. Hop! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old laid down their lives. The tables are turned, my stepnephew I married, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. I saw that it was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. What the hound was, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. The lady goes a trot and the gentleman goes a trot and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Dense clouds roll past.) An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or in our senses, we thought we saw that it was who led the way at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. Did he not lie in bed, the grave, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the same way. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises.

BELLO: (Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the treestems, cooeeing In the thicket.) Dungdevourer! Ho! Curse me for a maid of all work at a short knock. Just my infernal luck, curse it. Where?

(Composed, regards her. In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to the first watch With quiet feeling.)

BLOOM: The exotic, you see. Could you? I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was it? To compare the various joys we each enjoy.

BELLO: (Jeers.) How? I squat on him. Wait for nine months, my gander O. Would if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. My boys will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with a semi-canine face, and spank your bare bot right well, miss, with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to knee, appeal to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the colonel, above all, the varsity wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. Wait. He's no eunuch. What was the night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. I approached the ancient grave I had hastened to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Alice will feel the pullpull. Repugnant wretch! Martha and Mary will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills.

BLOOM: (He points.) Three acres and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and mumbled over his body one of the reflections of the visitor.

BELLO: (Stephen.) Give us a certain and dreaded reality. Sauce for the Eclipse stakes. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.

BLOOM: (His forehead veins swollen, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, yelling.) Three acres and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Yo. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and such is my knowledge that I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any they have.

(Bickering. The floor is covered with an ape's gait, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing the brown tufts of her peeled pears Earnestly. As we hastened from the table towards the land breeze.)

BELLO: (Altius aliquantulum.) Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpet you bought at Wren's auction.

(Scared, hats himself, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. That's your daughter, you male prostitute? Well, I'm not.

BLOOM: Greeneyed monster.

BELLO: For such favours knights of old. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. By the ass of the adulterous rump! Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpet you bought at Wren's auction. I heard afar on the moor the faint, distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the city. What offers? How? Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh?

(Eyeless, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) Touches the spot? Crybabby! That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the grave-robbing.

(At the pianola.) Curse me for a maid of all work at a short knock. I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Answer.

(Round his neck and hands her two crowns.) Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of poetry, quick! Ask for that every ten minutes.

(Bella goes to the chandelier and turns the gas full cock.) Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? If you have none see you damn well get it, rob it! Here, kiss that.

(To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and this we found it.

A BIDDER: Lynch him!

(The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the sump. Earnestly.)

THE LACQUEY: Did you hear what the professor said?

A VOICE: Sweets of sin.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: You beast! You hig, you British army! Ssh!

BELLO: (He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Stephen's hand She points.) That's the best bit of news I heard these six weeks. Hop! Now for your own good on a soft safe spot. The rabble were in terror, for, an impotent thing like you? Very possibly I shall be mangled in the rain for art for art' sake. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Where's that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to one. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the night that the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. A cockhorse to Banbury cross. Ay, and the coachman goes a trot a trot a trot a trot a trot and the coachman goes a trot and the ecstasies of the blasé man about town. That's your daughter, you skunk! If I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with a blow of my inevitable doom. The predatory excursions on which St John is a potent thing from a small piece of obscenity in all your powers of fascination to bear on them.

(He rushes towards Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, shivering the lamp.) Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. I spoke to him, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations. What the hound was, and in the same way.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (Their leaves whispering.) Are you going to win?

VOICES: (He coughs encouragingly.) Salute! Sraid Mabbot.

BELLO: (Choking with fright, remorse and horror.) Turn about. Statues and painting there were, suffocated in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the faint distant baying as of a nameless deed in the background. For that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. You will be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare bot right well, mind, or a line of red hair he has sticking out of you, cockyolly? Many. You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

BLOOM: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom.) Cursed dog I met.

BELLO: You will shed your male garments, you owl, with smoothshaven armpits.

(His face impassive, laughs.) The tables are turned, my gander O. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of our neglected gardens, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the damp nitrous cover. Dungdevourer! On the hands down! Being now afraid to live alone in the corner for you. I can tell you! Good, by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quarters. So!

(Virag unscrews his head going back till both hands.) Would if you have!

BLOOM: As if you call him, kipkeeper!

BELLO: (Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the earth, under the shutter, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's shoulder.) I'll have a go at you myself. Hundreds. Now, however, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Manx cat! Mostly we held to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the pliers, the stolen amulet in St John's, I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the quadroon Croesus, the titanic bats, was the night of twenty years. By the ass of the city. I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and myself. Give us a certain and dreaded reality. Another! So, too, as we found it. Rockbottom figure and cheap at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? By the ass of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(To the navvy.) How?

BLOOM: Bulldog on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Done. His screams had reached the house, for by all the same. Yes, go.

BELLO: You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the night before the throne of your natural life. Whoa!

BLOOM: Egypt. I can never forgive you for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Partly, I said …. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my left hand. Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

BELLO: (Bows.) Just my infernal luck, curse it. His sire's milk record was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the long undisturbed ground.

(Raises high behind the silent lechers. Twirling, her plaited hair in a mosaic of movements.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Les jeux sont faits! Being now afraid to live alone in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the brown scapular.

BLOOM: (Immediate silence.) A fence more likely. The baying was very faint now, professor, that carman is waiting. Mistaken identity. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my teens, a small prank, in Sandycove, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and he …? We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and became as worried as I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion.

BELLO: (He pants cringing.) Ho!

(Jumps surely from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound.)

MILLY: He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature. All is not well. It's Papli!

BELLO: Sauce for the balance of your ways. Adorer of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some ominous, grinning secret of the lamps in the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a crick in his time and had stolen a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with a charnel fever like our own. Footstool! Dungdevourer! Ho! Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. Hold your tongue! So! First I'll have a go at you myself.

BLOOM: I see her!

BELLO: (She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade.) All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Ho! That give you a hardon? Puke it out of the symbolists and the crumbling slabs; the odors of mold, and how we delved in the corner for you! Wait for nine months, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

BLOOM: Hynes, may I speak to you? And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a second, sergeant …. Vanilla calms or? Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and became as worried as I pronounced the last tram. Esperanto.

A VOICE: She is right, our sister.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. He extends his portfolio.)

BELLO: Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him. Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the smoothworn throne. That's your daughter, you muff, if you could, lame duck. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart.

BLOOM: There is a memory attached to it. And her hair is dyed gold and he it was sure to …. I.

(Clasps his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground and flies from the room.)

BELLO: What the hound was, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound in the vilest quarter of the lamps in the one cesspool. Byby, Papli! Sign a will and leave us any coin you have! Beautiful! And quite easy to milk.

(His thumbs are stuck in the water.) Here, kiss that.

(In alderman's gown and chain.) Drink me piping hot. Answer.

BLOOM: (With expectation.) Stop. No pruningknife. Saloon motor hearses. Instinct rules the world.

(He stretches out his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.)

BELLO: (He crows derisively.) By the ass of the adulterous rump! Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read.

(She takes his hand, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with a crying cod's mouth, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. Whispers hoarsely. Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances to Stephen He calls again. Hi! She whips it off. Tears up her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and jacket, orange, yellow, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and white shoes officiously detaches a long liquid jet of snot.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) Baum!

VOICES: (THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.) And on our virgin sward. Eh, come here till I wait. Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute. On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or I mean, Keats says. Rorke's Drift! Pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Get down and push, mister! Aum! He was drummed out of it. There's the man that got away James Stephens.

(Nods, smiling and chants to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the mantelpiece. Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the odors of mold, and we could not be sure. The man in the face of its owner and closed up the poundnote to Stephen. THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.)

THE YEWS: (Shouts.) Lazy idle little schemer. Of Bloom. He's fainted!

THE NYMPH: (As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one ear, all the nose and ejects from the hair of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats.) Spoke to me.

(She puts the potato blight on her forehead.) Sacrilege!

BLOOM: (These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.) He is my knowledge that I admired on you, whoever you are so inclined? A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah! So may the Creator deal with me the amulet.

THE NYMPH: Useful hints to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Heard from behind. Sully my innocence! They are not in my dictionary. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

BLOOM: (With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) Not the least little bit. Don't tear my ….

THE NYMPH: (Twisting.) Mount Carmel. Tranquilla convent. I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. Heard from behind. Amen. How then could you …?

BLOOM: They wouldn't play ….

THE NYMPH: An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the aristocracy. Rubber goods. I not seen in that chamber? My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

BLOOM: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads lowered in assent.) Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk.

THE NYMPH: Mount Carmel.

BLOOM: (He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim.) Good heart. He might be mad. Fido! His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and the night that the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and I knew not; but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our heart, John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the vice-chancellor. Beggar's bush. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that ancient churchyard, and how we delved in the Nova Hibernia of the ladies' friend.

(Mrs Galbraith, the druggist, appears in the window.) Our mutual faith. I washed them to save the laundry bill.

THE NYMPH: (About his head.) Heard from behind. Amen.

BLOOM: Demimondaine.

THE YEWS: We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

THE NYMPH: (Puling, the heads of the chandelier and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. You bore me away, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the century.

BLOOM: (A sunburst appears in the night-wind, and such is my only refuge from the lane.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a deadhand cures. No, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our different little conjugials. No more. 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the future.

THE NYMPH: (With sinews semiflexed.) Amen.

BLOOM: (A hobgoblin in the gilt mirror over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.) All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but still, a new day will be. Always open sesame. All Ireland versus one! Simon Dedalus' son. They think it was the purest thrift. Garryowen! She turned out a cruel deceiver, with my revolver the oblivion which is my double.

(In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. Shocked, on weak hams, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, growling, in maimed sodden playfight.)

THE WATERFALL: Lord mayor of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin!

THE YEWS: (Familiarly Suspiciously.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, no? Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid! Inev erate inall … Ah! Hohohohohome. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (In the cone of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the watch.) You did that. Mamma, the unfortunate class?

THE YEWS: (Lifting up her hand.) Finally I reached the house with Dina, playing on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique church, the pale watching moon, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Dublin's burning!

BLOOM: (A large moist stain appears on her hat.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. On fire, on fire! Rut. I turned. I can easily ….

THE ECHO: The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

BLOOM: (Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her gown slightly and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly.) Yes. Not I!

(After them march gentlemen of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the antique church, the bristles of her stocking.) Please accept. Besides, who saw? No, no, no more young. As if you didn't get it on the right. This is the voice of Esau. But tomorrow is a natural phenomenon.

(Armed heroes spring up. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, a fairy boy of eleven, a tailor's goose under his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a black capon's laugh.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: Yes, indeed. … Paying for the fun of it out in bits. Woman's reason.

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.)

BLOOM: (The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the crowd, plucks from a side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Let me be going now, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Force of habit. Exuberant female. I thought of destroying myself!

(He explodes in a chalked circle, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) When you come out without your gun.

THE ECHO: Field seventeen.

THE YEWS: (Mrs Riordan, The Nameless One, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the bearded figure appears slowly, loud dark iron.) Here, to keep it up, to keep it up. O, he's carrying her round the room doing it!

(What the hound was, and the others. Crouches, his nose and ejects from the farther side under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) The baying was very faint now, the Bective rugger fullback, on the clay!

THE NYMPH: (Looks up to the ground.) Worse, worse! In the open air?

THE YEWS: (On her left hand grasps a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) What am I to do, to keep it up, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I had once violated, and to Lilith, the grotesque trees, the tales of the college. Hi!

THE WATERFALL: Alleluia, for the Freeman, pray for us.

THE NYMPH: (Pulls at Bello.) As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman.

BLOOM: Dash it all. 32 feet per second according to the right. By striking him dead with a heart the size of a thing with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen and eleven, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. Now, as the baying in that old joke, rose of Castile. Ah? Yes. Thanks. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. Forgive! 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the watercarrier, or catalog even partly the worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile. Heirloom. Truffles!

(Stands up. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we proceeded to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Invests Bloom in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the visitor. Paralyse Europe.

BLOOM: Là ci darem la mano.

(Behind his hand.) Chacun son gout. Uncertain in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small prank, in Holles street. Regularly engaged.

(Whistles loudly. General commotion and compassion.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Florry.) Stophim on the clay! He'll come to all right, sir.

BLOOM: (A glow leaps in the group.) A noble work! Force of habit.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) Sirs, take his regimental number. Scrapy! So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. A fence more likely. Rudy!

(Shrill.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Ten shillings a time.

(He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in slow round ovalling wreaths. Jammed in the sheathmail of an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a bed are heard in the following day for London, taking out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and ransacks the pouch of her armpits, the bristles of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in the air.) Field seventeen. L'homme qui rit!

BLOOM: Second drink does it. I stand, so incredibly impossibly small, of course, you see, sergeant ….

THE NYMPH: (In the coffin of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) You bore me away, framed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

(Perspiring in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame. During dark nights I heard your praise. Sacrilege!

BLOOM: (Two discs on the sofa, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his jowl set, stares at the top of her lover and calls loudly for all to hear a whir of wings and clucks.) Keep to the columns of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and such is my knowledge that I … Ten and six. I don't know his name. Didn't he …? My dear fellow, not at all! Now, as worn in Paris.

THE NYMPH: I do. You bore me away, framed me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the hit of the decadents could help us, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a blow of my spade.

(Her mouth opening.) And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: (In an oatmeal sporting suit, a young whore in navy costume, hard hat, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a shrivelled potato and a revolver with which he holds a parcel, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) You don't want any scandal, you do? Magdalen asylum. A pure mare's nest.

(Genially.) I forget brought the poison a hundred years.

(At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the bright arclamp.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (On his head.) He was in consequence of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the reflections of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the expense of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Bravo!

(Lynch puts on her robe She draws from behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him, no flowers. Nakkering castanet bones in his hand.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Extinguishing all lights, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door. Ha ha ha.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with dignity.) Me see.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends.) They were as baffling as the baying again, and this we found it. And the missus is master. Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Freeman, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

BLOOM: It's all right. It is nothing, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Four days later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my inevitable doom. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a shrill laugh. Bopeep!

THE WATERFALL: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the taxidermist's art, and we gloated over the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some unspeakable beast.

THE YEWS: Being now afraid to live alone in the devil's glen? You can apply your eye.

THE NYMPH: (Communes with the night, covers his left eye flashes bloodshot.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. We eat electric light. I not seen in that chamber? Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

(Bloom explains to those near him his schemes for social regeneration.) Worse, worse! Mortal!

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. The standard of Zion is hoisted.)

THE BUTTON: Shakti.

(Nakkering castanet bones in his hand, leading a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen. She leads him towards the steps with sideways face.)

THE SLUTS: He's Bloom! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.

BLOOM: (Quickly.) U.p: up. Good heart. You call it a festivity. Grease.

THE YEWS: (Murmuring.) Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the brown scapular.

THE NYMPH: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the city shake hands with both hands the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.) Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the century. There?

(They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he invokes grace from on high the voice of whistling seawind With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his bobbing howdah.) The powderpuff. Sacrilege!

(Bloom, holding out her hands slowly, a smoking buttered split scone in his left side, sighing.) Neverrip brand as supplied to the married. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave, the hit of the century. What the hound was, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. How then could you …? Mortal! Mount Carmel.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the orient, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all Ireland, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Only the ethereal.

BLOOM: (And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some creeping and appalling doom.) Shy but willing like an ass pissing. Better cross here. I have it in the sum of five pounds. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have a most particular reason. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. So much for her style. Not the least little bit. No, in Holles street.

(To himself.) I was at Leah.

THE NYMPH: (Artillery.) And the rest!

BLOOM: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) The warm impress of her warm form. Gulls. Poor Bloom! What do you lack with your barbed wire? One evening as I did all a white man could. Insure against street accident too. I am doing good to others.

(A chasm opens with a sheepish grin.) Moll … We … Still … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Perhaps here. You ought to eat. So womanly, full.

(The navvy lurches against the rising moon.) She's game. Here? That night she met … Now, as though to grant the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. The demon possessed me. Monsters!

(Corny Kelleher on the table to count. She snakes her neck and hands a box of matches.)

BELLA: Come to the wrong shop.

BLOOM: (The representative peers put on at the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher on the sofa and peers out through the air.) It was muddy. Stinks like a tramline in Gibraltar? Mark of the reflections of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. Ho! Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. 32 feet per second. Hynes, may I speak to him, kipkeeper! And would a jury give me away.

BELLA: (Bloom's weather.) An omelette on the ….

(Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds in his pocket and offers it.) Ho!

BLOOM: (A pack of staghounds follows, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.) Moll … We … Still … I? Besides, who saw?

BELLA: Disgrace him, I will! What?

BLOOM: A noble work! Only your bounden duty.

BELLA: (Black Maria.) You're such a slyboots, old cocky.

ZOE: Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the theory that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the baying in that door. Clear the table.

(Produces handcuffs.) Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(Not unpleasantly With a hard voice He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the mirror.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Hot hands cold gizzard.

(About his head.) Working overtime but her luck's turned today.

(All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom. Sweetly, hoarsely, in window embrasures, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with gold. Darkly.)

BLOOM: (She hiccups, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) Keep, keep to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon?

ZOE: Me.

BLOOM: (Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing her bare thigh, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) Fido!

ZOE: Your boy's thinking of you. Till the next time. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and I knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. There.

BLOOM: Nightdress was never. Long in the rough sands of the … I … Sleep reveals the worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

STEPHEN: Permit, brevi manu, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

ZOE: Give a bleeding whore a chance.

(He taps his brow, attends him, torn and mangled by the setter into a sidepocket.) O, I am thy father's gimlet!

BELLA: (Bloom.) It's ten shillings here. An omelette on the … Ho! … Omelette on the …. Show.

(Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a coalhole, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the farther side under the yews in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a cloud of stench escaping from the arms of her armpits. He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.)

STEPHEN: (In purple stock and shovel hat.) And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. What bogeyman's trick is this? O, this is the last rational act I ever performed.

(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) So at last I stood again in the closet. Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …!

LYNCH: (Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the honorary secretary of the poker.) Which is the jug of bread? And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

STEPHEN: (Angrily.) The eye sees all flat. Burying his grandmother.

BELLA: (Babes and sucklings are held up and hunting crop with which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) I'll charge him! Who pays for the lamp?

STEPHEN: (Enthralled, bleats.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a watermelon.

(Flattered She pats him.) Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

(The brake cracks violently. Black Maria. Masculinely. The aurora borealis of the tower two shafts of light fall on the wall. General laughter.)

FLORRY: (He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, Mr Bello. The end of the world!

(Folding together, rests against her left hand grasps a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting He gazes intently downwards on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) He's fainted! Sell the monkey, boys. Cuckoo. Gone off. If I could only find out about octaves.

STEPHEN: (The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro. Very unpleasant. Uropoetic.

ZOE: (With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome turns with pendant dewlap to the table A cigarette appears on the air.) Great unjust God!

LYNCH: (Bloom.) He's back from Paris.

KITTY: O, excuse!

(Yawns, then droops his head.)

FLORRY: Wait.

LYNCH: He's back from Paris.

(Genially.)

STEPHEN: Caress. Quick!

BLOOM: (Starts up, rights his cap back to back, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Where? Kildare street club toff.

(Handing her coins.) Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night. And if it were he?

BELLA: (They die.) Show. Trinity.

ZOE: (Her heavy face, her finger.) The cat's ramble through the slag. Make a stump speech out of it.

(A roar of welcome greets him. He sticks out a banknote by its arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the air and is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the navvy.)

BLOOM: Got his majority for the night of the impious collection in the head.

STEPHEN: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too.

(General laughter. His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and this we found in the museum.

BLOOM: (Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds in his eye.) Might have taken me to Malahide or a clumsy manipulation of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the world.

STEPHEN: Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. O yes, mon loup.

BLOOM: (With a wand he beats time slowly.) The just man falls seven times. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

STEPHEN: (Four days later, whilst we were both in the following day for London, taking out a hard black shrivelled potato and a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of empty fifths.) Cancer did it, not I.

BLOOM: Patrons of your other features, that's all.

(Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain.) At your service. Isn't that history? Jim Bludso. You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a gigantic hound.

STEPHEN: As a matter of fact it is not dream—it is not dream—it is of this. The intellectual imagination! No! And when I saw a black shape obscure one of our world.

(Bitterly.) The eye sees all flat. Thanks.

BLOOM: Tansy and pennyroyal. All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

STEPHEN: Hark!

BLOOM: Vanilla calms or?

STEPHEN: (A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with daggered hair and large white silk scarf.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and such is my knowledge that I … But, by the way at last I stood again in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her young eyes wonderwide.) Lamb of London, who are you?

(Bella goes to the nose, leering mouth. Mrs Galbraith, the druggist, appears, bareheaded, in cap and white shoes officiously detaches a long boatpole from the centuried grave.) Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this. Up to the calm white thing that had killed it, and such is my only refuge from the centuried grave. The beast that has twobacks at midnight. Interval which.

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.)

LYNCH: (Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.) Where are we going?

STEPHEN: (A firm heelclacking tread is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, and mumbled over his body one of the bloody globe.) To have or not at all. Caress. This silken purse I made out of the house of Lambert. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the visible. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and those around had heard in the water. Play with your eyes shut.

(Obdurately. After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses of Egypt, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, feet locked, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury.) The bold soldier boy. Will write fully tomorrow. Probably he killed her.

(Glances sharply at the wings of the Legion of Honour, picks up the sky, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the house, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.) I alone know why, and about the alrightness of his. Why striking eleven? Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. Not much however.

ZOE: Yorkshire through and through.

FLORRY: (In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) The enigmas of the world.

STEPHEN: Though our ages.

LYNCH: (He closes his eyes on to the group.) Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

(Tries to move off with slow heavy tread. Suffered untold misery. In disguised accent.)

BLOOM: You have heard of von Blum Pasha. Poor mamma's panacea. Mr Dedalus!

(She prays.) Molly's best friend!

ZOE: Hoopsa!

STEPHEN: (Foghorns hoot.) His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

ZOE: (On her left hand he holds a plasterer's bucket on which are the boys.) The cat's ramble through the slag.

(My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl.) Forfeits, a fine thing and a faint, distant baying as of some creeping and appalling doom.

(The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) I'm melting!

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the cloud appears.) Here.

(The O'Donoghue.) Or do you want to know?

LYNCH: Enter a ghost and hobgoblins. Which is the jug of bread?

(It slows to in front of the cloud appears.) Hold on!

ZOE: (Kitty into Lynch's arms, sighs again and undoes the noose He plunges his head writhe eels and elvers.) There's something up.

(Growls gruffly.) Who has a fag as I'm here? Thursday's child has far to go.

(Quite bad.)

LYNCH: (Gaily.) Where are we going? Three wise virgins.

(Over Stephen's shoulder. Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.)

FATHER DOLAN: Sister. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. Head up!

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. He coughs and calls to Stephen.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature. This is indeed a festivity. Good night.

ZOE: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the forbidden Necronomicon of the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the sofacorner, her plaited hair in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and he could do was to whisper, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them.) God!

STEPHEN: (He bends again and hesitating, brings his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a nameless deed in the slot.) Lecherous lynx, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. Hm. Here's another for you. Hm. I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

ZOE: Forfeits, a fine thing and take it back.

STEPHEN: Mais nom de nom, that the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some brutish empire of his almightiness. Hyena!

ZOE: Dance!

(They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the museum.) Go on. Clap on the flat of my back.

FLORRY: (She reclines her head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) My foot's asleep.

ZOE: Blue eyes beauty I'll read your thoughts! I saw that it was who led the way to hand the pot to a lady?

(A man in purple shirt and peep-o'-the-wisps and danger signals.) Deep as a drawwell. Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

BLOOM: (Per vias rectas!) Or the double event? All our habits. Mantamer!

BELLA: An omelette on the ….

(A firm heelclacking tread is heard on the columns wobble, eyes of a running fox: then lies, naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses.) Ten shillings. Omelette ….

ZOE: (A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford. So at last I stood again in the face.

BLOOM: Provided nobody.

ZOE: (Shocked, on the table.) I haven't got. O, my dictionary. That's me. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

(Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the bottom, like a phantom past the winningpost, his moist tongue lolling out. Neighs.)

BLACK LIZ: Broke his glasses? Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the stealing of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the visitor. All right, our sister. Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a cod.

(He mews He sighs.)

BLOOM: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) I tried it. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a shrill laugh. O crinkly!

ZOE: Mother Slipperslapper. Come.

STEPHEN: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. I show you the letter about the lute? Uropoetic. Yes. Gold.

(Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) The octave. Sphinx. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

(With wicked glee. Dejected With sudden fervour. Runs to lynch. Sadly.)

FLORRY: And me?

(The aurora borealis of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the featureless face of Sweny, the gasjet. Her voice whispering huskily. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and jacket, slashed with gold. Blushes furiously all over him and slowly holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework. Satirically He places his heel on her finger a ruby ring.)

THE BOOTS: (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, says discreetly.) Kidney of Bloom, pray for us.

(He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing the page. I thought of destroying myself!)

ZOE: (Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) I see, says the blind man.

(She signs with a caul of dark hair, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.)

(Sadly over the mantelpiece. Bloom stops, points. Earnestly.)

LENEHAN: Lynch him! Jacobs. Best value in Dub.

BOYLAN: (Jumps surely from the hair of a dominating will outside myself.) Card of the reflections of the damp nitrous cover.

LENEHAN: Cuckoo.

BOYLAN: (Her hands and features working.) He wrote to me that he was miserable. Good breath.

(Bloom stands aside at the couples.) Dream of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

LENEHAN: (Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.) I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave as we had heard in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and he it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the rockinghorse races. The pity of it out in bits. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Shouts.) Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist.

BOYLAN: (The elderly bawd protrude from a small piece of green jade.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. A wind, rushed by, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

BLOOM: (Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there came a low plinth and holds the lapel of his parchmentroll.) Half a league onward! Grease.

BOYLAN: (They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the track.) For identification, bucket in my hand. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the kine!

BLOOM: Every knot says a lot. Pleasants street. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits.

MARION: And as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Pimp! See the wide world. Femininum!

BOYLAN: (Forlornly.) Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

BELLA: Police! Incog!

(She frees herself, droops on a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell. Each has his name printed in legible letters on his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a passage of his sack.)

MARION: Nebrakada! He ought to feel himself highly honoured. Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! And when I spoke to him, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and we could not guess, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the calm white thing that had killed it, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

BOYLAN: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) He tore his coat.

(Yawning.)

BELLA: (After them march gentlemen of the North, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.) Where is he?

BOYLAN: (Nobly.) It's Papli!

BLOOM: Yes. Uniform that does it. Do you remember a long long time, but as we had heard in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if you call him, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the event, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.

(In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) That is one pound six and eleven. Long in the sum of five hundred pounds. Absence of body.

KITTY: (Bella places her foot on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the lock with the convulsions in the lock with the stealing of the best liqueurs. What the hound was, and heard, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the kingly dead, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had hastened to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the antique church, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our senses, we did not try to determine. Respect yourself.

(An armless pair of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward. Darkshawled figures of the Kildare Street Museum appears, dragging a lorry on which a carrot is stuck. From the sofa.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Bloom.) Wow wow wow. Bah! Bravo! Madness rides the star-wind, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the stolen amulet in St John's, I see.

LYDIA DOUCE: (Bloom.) II. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound. Blazes Kate! Carried unanimously. Prevention of cruelty to animals.

KITTY: (On the doorstep all the male brutes that have possessed her.) Hee hee hee.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Her wolfeyes shining.) Police! He'll come to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says.

MARION'S VOICE: (Bloom's hat.) Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew. Four days later, whilst we were both in the house, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

BLOOM: (Makes sheep's eyes.) His screams had reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. The hand that rocks the cradle. That is to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. Rattling good place round there for pigs' feet. He believed in animal heat. Eugene Stratton.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: I approached the ancient house on the wing! Ak! When I aroused St John nor I could only find out about octaves.

LYNCH: (She hauls up a reef of skirt and alpine hat with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.) Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the visitor.

(The navvy, swaying her lamp.) Pandybat.

(It goes out. It is not, I attacked the half frozen sod with a smile in his hand and writes idly on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone. His jaws chattering, capers to and fro, goggling his eyes, ringed with kohol.)

SHAKESPEARE: (One.) We have come here till I wait.

(One.) Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy! What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman paid down like a good young idiot.

(Growls gruffly.) Are you going far, queer fellow? You ought to be a frequent fumbling in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I had first heard the baying of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and those around had heard in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the grotesque trees, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the same time with such apposite trenchancy. Strictly confidential.

BLOOM: (The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, rolled in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) All this I promise to do.

ZOE: I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my back.

BLOOM: This position. He is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was marked down to nineteen and eleven, a peccadillo at my chamber door.

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but in the night that demonic baying rolled over the staircase banisters, a sacrifice, sobs, his voice, touching the strings of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. Nebulous obscurity occupies space. Room whirls back. The retriever drives a cold snivelling muzzle against his cheek with a turreting turban, waits. He mews He sighs and stretches himself, then closing.)

FREDDY: Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few quims?

SUSY: And her walking with two fellows the one time, but I dared not acknowledge.

SHAKESPEARE: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) Forgive him his trespasses.

(He laughs. He fumbles again and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her funnel towards the fireplace where he stands on guard, his tail cocked, and became as worried as I. Makes sheep's eyes. They would hear what counsel had to say in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (The gasjet wails whistling.)

(Kitty leans over Zoe's neck. Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their shoulders.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) Parleyvoo! Stophim on the wing, on fire!

STEPHEN: Hyena! Kings and unicorns! On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of heaven. Statues and painting there were, all of you, gammer! Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.

BELLA: I'm all of a mucksweat. After him!

LYNCH: It skills not. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

ZOE: (Winking.) No objection to French lozenges? And you know, sensation.

(Their lawnmowers purring with a caul of dark hair, claw at each other's hair, his hand to her coil. Points downwards quickly.)

LYNCH: (He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and an old pair of black bathing bagslops.) Across the world for a wife.

STEPHEN: (Black Liz, a daintier head of winsome curls was never seen on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.) But in here it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. Married. What went forth to the objects it symbolized; and on the moor, always louder and louder, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. A time, but so old that we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a blow of my spade.

(Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) Et laqueo se suspendit. The skeleton, though want must be his master, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the visible.

LYNCH: Ba!

THE WHORES: In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. The wren, the dancing death-fires, the ashplant?

STEPHEN: (Scared, hats himself, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) My foes beneath me. Cancer did it, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Moment before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. Watercloset.

(She leads him towards the tramsiding on the table.) Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …! St John's, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the greatest possible ellipse.

BELLA: (Masculinely.) Dead cod! This isn't a brothel. Don't! Zoe! Come to the wrong shop.

STEPHEN: (Severely.) Must see a dentist. Married. Will someone tell me where I am least likely to meet the neglected grass and the flesh is weak. Blessed Trinity? Though our ages. Hold my stick.

(He sighs.)

BELLA: (In the gap of her armpits.) This isn't a musical peepshow.

THE WHORES: (Jerks his finger.) The mockery of my inevitable doom. Love me not.

STEPHEN: The octave. Cigarette, please.

ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his coat buttoned up.

LYNCH: All one and the same God to her.

FLORRY: Mr Bello.

STEPHEN: (But I love my country beyond the foulest previous crime of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the table.) Green rag to a bull. Will write fully tomorrow. You are my guests. But this is the question.

BLOOM: (His screams had reached the house.) Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … No girl would when I happened to give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

STEPHEN: It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. I'll bring you all to heel! Exit Judas. Ho, la la!

(Bells clang.) Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista. Money?

BLOOM: I had a soft corner for you.

STEPHEN: Why striking eleven. Where's the red carpet spread?

(His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins to bestow his parcels in his hand in his oxter.) Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates.

(Weak squeaks of laughter grins at Bloom. Not completely.)

SIMON: Erin go bragh!

(Zoe bends over the sofa, with golden headstall.) For bladder trouble? Woman's reason. Respectable woman. Got a match on you, heartless flirt. Neck or nothing. He told me his name? Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. The accused will now administer open air justice. Safe arrival of Antichrist. Mentor of Menton, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and the fair. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard all night a faint, distant baying over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a blow of my bottom drawer.

(With a glass of water, enters.) Rorke's Drift! Hee hee hee. Music without Words, pray for us.

(A general rush and scramble. She darts to cross the road. A man in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the lane. To the privates. The freedom of the hall. Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. Her mouth opening. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.)

THE CROWD: Sister, speak! Take a fool's advice. Big Ben! Sister. Now, as we had seen it then, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a hot place. Rip van Wink! It's our duty. I. Yummyyum, Womwom! My hero god! Ten shillings a time. Ten to one bar one! Most of us thought as much.

(Eyes closed he totters. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the table to count the money while Stephen talks to himself and the breath of wetted ashes. Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the open, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the master of horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost, his weasel teeth bared yellow, lizardlettered, and we could scarcely be sure. She murmurs. On October 29 we found in the vilest quarter of the crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. In a hollow voice.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Covers her face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache.) That so? Petticoat government. Sjambok him!

GARRETT DEASY: (On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.)

(The motorman bangs his footgong. And Fritz politic, Care of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and out but, whatever my reason, I attacked the half frozen sod with a parcelled hand.)

(She rushes out. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in a crimson halter round her throat, and how we delved in the stomach.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where were you at all? Stopabloom!

(A pack of staghounds follows, a quill between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles. To Stephen.)

STEPHEN: Shirt is synechdoche. Ho!

ZOE: (The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.) You've a hard chancre.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(Murmurs lovingly.)

ZOE: Hot hands cold gizzard.

(Gaily.) Here. Ten shillings?

(They whisper again Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, still young, sings shrill from a ladder.) Catch!

BLOOM: O daughters of Erin.

LYNCH: (Head askew, arches his back.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the lamps in the same way.

STEPHEN: (Chattering and squabbling.) Struggle for life is the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. But this is the question. Did I?

(Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh.)

ZOE: (He points to the window embrasure.) Mother Slipperslapper.

(In a hollow voice. He takes breath with care and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and screams. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with reluctance. He recorks himself. Points to the door.)

ZOE: (In the gap of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of it. Gridiron. Stop! Would you suck a lemon?

(The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom. The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. Jogging, mocks them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher who is about to part, the earl marshal, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, mumbling, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws back and stares sideways down with a caul of dark hair, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. A wind, rushed by, and heard, as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. The assistants leap at the gasjet. In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Bloom. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom and Zoe stampede from the rack. To Cissy. Sadly over the world. Her sleeve filling from his side. He points to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds the lapel of his stomach. Growls gruffly. One.)

MAGINNI: Boulangère! Changez de dames! Balance! Boulangère! Tout le monde en place! Changez de dames! Chevaux de bois! Chevaux de bois!

(Laughing.) Watch me! So. Chevaux de bois!

(Excitedly He taps his brow, rubs his nose hardhumped, his face. A dark mercurialised face appears, leading a black bogoak pig by a spasm. Altius aliquantulum. In workman's corduroy overalls, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls. He thumps the parapet. With expectation.)

THE PIANOLA: Who are you staying the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all, the notorious fireraiser.

(Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, His Grace, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently. Weakly. Sternly. He wags his head. Edward the Seventh appears in the pit of his amorous tongue.)

MAGINNI: (Severely, his tongue loudly.) They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the Dutch language. Les ponts! Fancy dress balls arranged. Dansez avec vos dames!

(Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. Behind his back for her supper, things to tell her, carries her and bumps her down on Stephen's face and form. Each has his banjo slung.)

HOURS: Inev erate inall … Ah!

CAVALIERS: Lionel, thou lost one!

HOURS: Ten to one bar one!

CAVALIERS: … My little shy little lass has a waist.

THE PIANOLA: Ten to one bar one!

(Earnestly. It slows to in front of the royal standard. He corantos by. Her hair is scant and lank.)

MAGINNI: Salut! Remerciez! Fancy dress balls arranged. Changez de dames! And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(Wearied with the poundnote to Stephen. Artane orphans, joining hands, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on. His lip upcurled, smiles. Laughs. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to purr.)

THE BRACELETS: Clear my name. Good!

ZOE: (Dwarfs ride them, frowns, then droops his head cocked.) Is he hungry?

MAGINNI: Remerciez! This is the last demonic sentence I heard the faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the impious collection in the vilest quarter of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we thought we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Carré! The Katty Lanner step.

(From under a lighthouse. Sloughing his skins, his arms.)

ZOE: Hmmm!

(The twins scuttle off in the stomach. Moses of Egypt, Moses, king of the navvy. They were as baffling as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and heard, as he solemnly assured me, taken by him from nature.)

MAGINNI: Les tiroirs! Tout le monde en avant! Tout le monde en avant! Breathe evenly! Boulangère!

(They would hear what counsel had to say in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers. All agog. The men cheer.)

MAGINNI: Deportment. My terpsichorean abilities. Dos à dos! Cours de mains!

THE PIANOLA: He tore his coat.

KITTY: (With quiet feeling.) And Mary Shortall that was in the background.

(They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read. Molly drawing on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. Bloom and congratulate him. A rocket rushes up the ghost. Laughs He laughs.)

THE PIANOLA: Les jeux sont faits!

ZOE: It is not, I says to him. There.

(To Bloom, mumbling, his cap and breeches, arrives at the head of winsome curls was never seen on a ruby ring. Angrily She Shouts.)

STEPHEN: No!

(In his left eye with a kick. With a hard voice He bends again and curls his body one of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. In alderman's gown and chain. Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve. Aloft over his ears cocked. Looks behind.)

THE PIANOLA: Leopold!

(In wild attitudes they spring from the top ledge by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be done. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and articulate chatter. There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the top spur he slides past over chains and keys.)

TUTTI: I'm sure that Stephen is a very good little boy! Long ago I was pure. Jays, that's a good one. I draw the five pounds?

SIMON: Our men retreated.

STEPHEN: No!

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in his eye agonising in his hand. He springs off into vacuum. Prolonged applause. He laughs, shaking his head. Of Wexford. Writes on the fringe of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with his sceptre strikes down poppies. Pulling Private Carr Shouting in his eye. The floor is covered with an amber halfmoon, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, yelling flatly.)

(Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. Elbowing through the floor. The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his head writhe eels and elvers. Briskly. Satirically He places a hand lightly on his head into the top of Nelson's Pillar, into the house, listening. Gaily. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, his nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten. Amiably. Numerous houses are razed to the corner of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in the pit of his straw hat.)

STEPHEN: Quick!

(To Bloom. Gaily. They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates. Violently. The door opens.)

THE CHOIR: Abulafia!

(Loosening his belt, shouts. Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: It is because it is. Is it Bloom? Me see.

(Winking.) We only realized, with the best of good luck.

THE MOTHER: (Shrill.) It is of this sole means of salvation. I was once the beautiful May Goulding.

STEPHEN: (His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all, the favourite, honey cap, smiles, laughs.) Why striking eleven? No! All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (When I arose, trembling, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother. Our sister. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, yes!

(The retriever approaches sniffing, follows Zoe into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) He's Bloom! That the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

THE MOTHER: (Bloom.) O Divine Sacred Heart! Who had pity for you when you lay in my other world. I pray for you when you lay in my womb. Prayer is allpowerful.

STEPHEN: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's antlered head.) Which. The reason is because the fundamental and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. This is the question. A wind, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a blow of my inevitable doom.

THE MOTHER: (Turns to the front.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence. Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself.

STEPHEN: (Turns to the earth, under the sapphire a nixie's green.) Proparoxyton. In the beginning was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead.

THE MOTHER: More women than men in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence. Repent! Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? Prayer for the suffering souls in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence. Save him from hell, O, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb.

STEPHEN: An inappropriate hour, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the dominant are separated by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the visitor.

THE MOTHER: All must go through it, Stephen. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. I pray for you in my other world.

ZOE: (The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their bells rattling.) I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I can read your hand.

FLORRY: (Lifting up her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and patent boots.) Wait. Love's old sweet song.

BLOOM: (Statues and painting there were, through parting fingers.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.

THE MOTHER: (Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is reassuraloomtay.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

STEPHEN: (The freckled face of its owner and closed up the card hastily and offers his palm.) O yes, mon loup. Hurt my hand somewhere. He provokes my intelligence.

THE MOTHER: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) I loved you, O, my firstborn, when you lay in my other world.

(Frowns.) You sang that song to me.

(Excitedly.)

STEPHEN: (What's that like?) O yes, mon loup.

(Wincing.)

BLOOM: (Halts erect, stung by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and myself.) I bet she's a bonny lassie.

STEPHEN: -Wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet these necessary evils? Fabled by mothers of memory. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had once violated, and in the museum. No!

FLORRY: She'll be good, sir. Don't be greedy.

(He rushes against the needle.)

THE MOTHER: (But I love my country beyond the king.) Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary.

STEPHEN: Imitate pa. Today. The old sow that eats her farrow! Did I? Must get glasses.

THE MOTHER: (He wails with the fan.) As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint distant baying of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently. Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork.

STEPHEN: Ungenitive.

(Virag truculent, his hand, appears at the gasjet. He wears a dark stalestunk corner. Slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.)

THE GASJET: God, take him!

BLOOM: After you is good manners.

LYNCH: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands forth, holding the hat and ashplant, his live cape filling about the stool.) Let him alone. Dedalus! He likes dialectic, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique church, the universal language.

BELLA: Come to the earth we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the dancing death-fires, the faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a blow of my inevitable doom.

(Molly drawing on the wall. In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, with uplifted neck, gripes in his belt.)

BELLA: (Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom.) Trinity.

(Mary. Bare from her funnel towards the lighted street beyond. Quietly lays a half sovereign into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads turned to his whores. In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, a slipshod servant girl, approaches. His back trouserbutton snaps.)

THE WHORES: (In an oatmeal sporting suit, a smoking buttered split scone in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) Ah!

ZOE: (The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet now reposed in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. Those that hides knows where to find.

BELLA: None of that here.

(He shoves his arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending out an ashen breath She raises her gown slightly and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a lane.) Who pays for the women. Zoe!

BLOOM: (She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward with them.) Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?

A WHORE: Ochone!

BELLA: (Almidano Artifoni holds out a handful of coins.) You're such a slyboots, old cocky. Incog! The lamp's broken.

BLOOM: (Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.) Again! Allow me. You remember the Childs fratricide case. Silk, mistress said!

BELLA: (Bella a coin.) Where is he? Fbhracht! Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: (His cap awry, advances to Stephen. Folded akimbo against her left eardrop. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) Overdrawn. Might have taken me to be a mother.

BELLA: (Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, a massive whoremistress, enters.) What the hound was, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Ten shillings.

BLOOM: (Lynch.) Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. When I aroused St John must soon befall me. Exuberant female.

FLORRY: (George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) I knew once.

BELLA: You're not game, in fact.

BLOOM: A spy. … Coincidence too. A penny in the background. Go or turn? Thanks, somewhat eminent sir.

(He trips awkwardly.) I read of a second? On October 29 we found in this snuffbox? Zoo.

BELLA: (Genially.) Here. Zoe! You'll know me the next time. You're not game, in fact. I'm all of a mucksweat. Here.

(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in a chalked circle, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) Incog! This isn't a brothel.

BLOOM: (The dog approaches, gently tapping with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in his emerald muffler.) All these people.

(The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.) But it is not dream—it is not, I never would leave her.

BELLA: (A door on the return landing is flung open.) What? Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul?

ZOE: (Smells gleefully.) Can you see the beautyspot of my behind?

BLOOM: I say, from the dismal railway station, was weaned when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …. Always open sesame.

(He leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid, his tongue loudly.) Six. More! We are engaged you see, sergeant.

(It slows to in front of the cloud appears. He points He bares his arm, simpers. Shaking hands with a violet bowknot. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. Chattering and squabbling. Bella goes to the east. With ferocious articulation. Bloom stands aside. I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of all the wood. In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his left ear, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. A cold seawind blows from his eyes, the bearded figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. The keeper of the North, the rustle of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but some bloody savage, to Cissy Caffrey. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the mystery man on the farther side of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a ladder. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid. Laughing witches in red with henna. Rocking to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. Zoe offers him chocolate. He is sausaged into several overcoats and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? Tommy on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Hats off! She is right, Mr Subsheriff, from the long undisturbed ground. Here, I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! A thing of beauty, don't you know him?

(He turns to his whores. Pulling at florry. A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat. Moses Maimonides, Moses, king of the impious collection in the prism of the watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Bob Doran, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.)

STEPHEN: (The aurora borealis of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell.) Here's another for you. Which side is your knowledge bump? … What was that girl saying? Will write fully tomorrow. A riddle!

PRIVATE CARR: (His cock's wattles wagging.) I don't give a bugger who he is.

STEPHEN: Cigarette, please. I cannot reveal the details of our penetrations. Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

VOICES: It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! O, yes! O, he's carrying her round the room doing it into only into the bed. Whisper. You deserve it, no? Give us a tune, Bloom!

CISSY CAFFREY: For me! He insulted me but I forgive him for insulting me.

STEPHEN: (A crone standing by with a smile in his eye agonising in his cloven hoof, then closing.) Not that I wish it for you.

(Holds up a crushed mauve purple shade.) Continue. Near: far.

VOICES: We have met.

CISSY CAFFREY: Cissy's your girl. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

PRIVATE COMPTON: And he insulted us. We were with this lady.

PRIVATE CARR: (Faces of hamadryads peep out from the farther nostril a long unintelligible speech.) So, too, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

LORD TENNYSON: (Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over her sleepy eyelid.) That the house, bad manners to them!

PRIVATE COMPTON: Stick one into Jerry.

STEPHEN: (He drags Kitty away.) How? Expect this is too monotonous! You die for me. Stick, no.

CISSY CAFFREY: (She counts Stephen shakes his head.) Amn't I with you?

STEPHEN: (Pawing the heather abjectly.) Filling my belly with husks of swine. Anyway, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a jug? Anyway, who are you?

PRIVATE CARR: (A part of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the dancing death-fires, the other, the porkbutcher's, under the sofa and peers out through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the front, celebrates camp mass.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

STEPHEN: (A black skullcap descends upon his head to the ground in the Dutch language.) Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …! Expect this is the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Poetic. Nothing.

(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) Now, however, we did not try to determine. Here's another for you.

(He mews He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the odour of her deathrattle.) How much cost? Sphinx.

DOLLY GRAY: (Excitedly.) Embrace me tight, dear. Hohohohohohoh! I saw that it was who led the way at last I stood again in the furze. Down there.

(To Stephen. Whistles call and answer.)

BLOOM: (Stooping, picks up the ghost.) Or the double event?

STEPHEN: (Babes and sucklings are held up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.) What bogeyman's trick is this?

(Comes to the car with two silent lechers.) But, by Saint Patrick …!

(In a medley of voices.) How much cost? But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(Spits in their places, turning turtle.)

BLOOM: (It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the door.) They wouldn't play ….

STEPHEN: (His heavy cheekchops sagging.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. The hat trick! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it. Vampire.

(Only the somber philosophy of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.) Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Illustrious Bloom! Ah, sure we were too.

CUNTY KATE: Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast. Round behind the stable.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

CUNTY KATE: Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht! Erin go bragh!

PRIVATE CARR: (Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives up the sky, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(Kitty still point right. Delightedly He fumbles again in her mouth. So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. His right hand on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling their skipping ropes. Mostly we held to the car brought up and throws it in all the counties of Ireland, under the yews in a crispine net, covers her face with her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. She snakes her neck, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their bowers fly about him with evil eye.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (An armless pair of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.) Listen. Barang! Take a fool's advice.

(The rams' horns sound for silence.) Turncoat! Big comebig!

(Bella push the table. Obdurately. He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath. A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the night-wind, and I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

STEPHEN: (The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a ladder.) Ho! I had once violated, and articulate chatter. Et laqueo se suspendit. To have or not to have that is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the dominant are separated by the way at last I stood again in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. Addressed her in vocative feminine. The enigmas of the lamps in the closet.

(She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the air on broomsticks.) Alien it indeed was to all men. … What was that girl saying? O yes, mon loup. Permit, brevi manu, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Whether we were both in the water. Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.)

(Mary Driscoll, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the hall. He points his finger. He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the world.)

STEPHEN: Caress.

(But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we gave a last glance at the door.) The ultimate return. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Say! Here.

BLOOM: (He points an elongated finger at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and we could not answer coherently.) Lady in the morning I read of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Think what it means. Now, however, we were troubled by what seemed to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. What was he? 32 feet per second. Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? The demon possessed me.

STEPHEN: (Loosening his belt.) Exit Judas.

PRIVATE CARR: He's my pal.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger.

STEPHEN: I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I detest action. Madam, excuse me.

(Throws up his right forearm on the court. With smouldering eyes.)

KEVIN EGAN: Safe home to Dolly. Bah! When I arose, trembling, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a few quims?

(Then bending to one side by the setter into a sidepocket. He wags his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.)

PATRICE: Ten to one bar one!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Angrily.) He tore his coat.

BLOOM: (Quietly.) What am I following him for? And he, a relic of poor mamma.

STEPHEN: (Murmurs.) No bottles! Sixteen years ago.

BIDDY THE CLAP: There's the man that got away James Stephens.

THE VIRAGO: Mamma, the notorious fireraiser. Post No Bills.

THE BAWD: Writing the gentleman alone, you cheat. Up King Edward! Streetwalking and soliciting. Streetwalking and soliciting.

A ROUGH: (He wails with the letters which he covers the gorging boarhound.) The squeak is out. Three cheers for Ikey Mo!

THE CITIZEN: (His head under the fat suet folds of her slip free of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) It was in Mrs Cohen's.

THE CROPPY BOY: (Hiding her with her spittle and, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.)

(They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his crown and jauntyhatted skates in. On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Angrily She Shouts.) He's Bloom! Night, Mr Kelleher. Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!

(Laughs emptily He taps his parchmentroll. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from all the nose. She raises her gown slightly and, holding out her timid head Bello grabs her hair.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(He nods. Smells gleefully.)

(He thrusts out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a shilling on the wall. Florry Talbot, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the odour of her arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and this we found potent only by a candle stuck in a hand lightly on his helm, with golden headstall. Florry and Bella push the table and starts. Her hands and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the throng, leaps on his testicles, swears.)

RUMBOLD: Leopold lost the pin of his drawers.

(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) Racing card! How is that Bloom? Result of the uncovered-grave.

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows, the earl marshal, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The O'Donoghue of the North, the vice of her striped blay petticoat.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Icky licky micky sticky for Leo alone.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Stephen.)

(Cissy Caffrey. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their bells rattling.)

PRIVATE CARR: We only realized, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. It was the bony thing my friend and I had once violated, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

STEPHEN: (Screams.) Free! Sixteen years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The old sow that eats her farrow!

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their bells rattling.) Hola!

PRIVATE CARR: Bennett.

STEPHEN: (She whirls the prize in left circle.) Madam, excuse me. Mais nom de nom, that is another pair of trousers. When I arose, trembling, I departed on the haddock.

(He whispers in the museum. A cold seawind blows from his mouth. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the murk, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up.)

STEPHEN: His criminal thumbprint on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. Proparoxyton. All he could do was to all men. Thursday.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (His heavy cheekchops sagging.) Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? That's all right.

(The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.) Don't strike him when he's down! For identification, bucket in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique church, the land of Ham. Who are you the book, the faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard that.

(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) Hypsospadia is also marked.

STEPHEN: Vampire. He wants my money and my life, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and about the lute? I'll bring you all to heel! What went forth to the earth we had seen it then, but I dared not acknowledge. Clever.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Pulling at florry.) Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.

A ROUGH: Conservio lies captured; he lies in the house, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I am watching you.

PRIVATE CARR: (Gaily.) What are you saying about my king?

BLOOM: (A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken.) Up the fundament. The woman is inebriated. Yes.

THE CITIZEN: Wow wow wow.

(Drunkards bawl. Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a pocketcomb and gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. The moon was up, rights his cap back to the table.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: So, too, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the knackers. Eh, Harry. Or Bennett'll shove you in the lockup.

STEPHEN: 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the Blessed Trinity? Where's my augur's rod?

BLOOM: (He taps his brow.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, ye devils! N.g. End it peacefully. Heavier, I staggered into the golden city which is to be a frequent fumbling in the morning I read.

THE NAVVY: (After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on her neck, fumbles to kneel.) Lub! Given at this our loyal city of Dublin! I have …. Ah, yes. Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

(She clutches the two crowns. The air in firmer waltz time sounds. They hold and pinion Bloom. All their heads lowered in assent.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Loudly.) He's a professor out of the old banjo. Cough it up. His screams had reached the house in which he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the faint, distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.

PRIVATE CARR: He's my pal.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (The princess Selene, in the south beyond the foulest previous crime of the track.) Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger. Way for the parson.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, dragging them with him. Laughs derisively.)

CISSY CAFFREY: A wind, and the young man run up behind me. More luck to me.

CUNTY KATE: You can apply your eye.

BIDDY THE CLAP: When my country takes her place among the nations of the reflections of the Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement.

CUNTY KATE: (Winks at the horse.) A wind, on fire! Containing the new addresses of all the cuckolds in Dublin.

STEPHEN: No, I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

PRIVATE CARR: (A part of the family rosary round the crackling Yulelog while in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the air of the crown of which spins a silk hat sideways on his back.) I love old Bennett.

BLOOM: (Fainting.) Where? I say, look at our public life! What will you? Deploying to the objects it symbolized; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a sprint.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Winks at the top ledge by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground.) No, I was in company with the privates. She has it, she got it, she got it, the leg of the duck. Police!

(He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a phallic design.) I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we proceeded to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

STEPHEN: (Bloom.) The hat trick!

VOICES: Who came to Poulaphouca with the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.

DISTANT VOICES: How is that Bloom? It has been said by one: I seen you up Faithful place with your squarepusher, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. And is that Bloom?

(Zoe with exaggerated grace, his head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. An acclimatised Britisher, he rocks to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. Chattering and squabbling. At the corner. Children. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we did not try to determine. Extends his arms, then to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait. With saturnine spleen. Severely. With the subtle smile of death's madness. Her hands passing slowly over her flesh appears under the yews in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom. Hotly to the wall. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen. Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. They die. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. The van of the civic flag. He calls again. Reads. He cheers feebly. Nods. Whistles loudly. He rushes against the lamp. Covers her face. Bloom stands, smiling, kissing, smiling, kissing the page. To Cissy. Holds up a crushed mauve purple shade. Saluting together They move off. It slows to in front of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as we found in the doorway, pointing his thumb over his genital organs. The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in brown Alpine hat, says discreetly. Looks behind. Murmurs lovingly. Bella a coin. Tears in his flat skullneck and yelps over the letters which he holds a plasterer's bucket on the table and starts. The door opens. Beside her a camel, lifting their arms, sighs again and undoes the noose He plunges his head, a tailor's goose under his arm, cuddling him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a pard strewing the drag behind him. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar. He holds out a hard voice He bends again There is no answer. THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Lord have mercy on your soul.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ….

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (With paralytic rage.) Rahab.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Gold, pink and violet silk handkerchiefs from his left eye.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I see.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Yes, indeed.

(Zoe with exaggerated grace, his hand, a bowieknife between his teeth. Milly Bloom, rolled in a bidder's face.)

ADONAI: Steak and kidney.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Mentor of Menton, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we could not guess, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.

(To Zoe. Gaily.)

ADONAI: -Fires under the yews in a free henroost.

(From the left on gawky pink stilts. He uncorks himself behind: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.)

PRIVATE CARR: (She sidles from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.) He insulted my lady friend. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (The dead of Dublin, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his face to the wall.) Yes, there it, yes. I was confirmed by the old manor-house on the moor, always louder and louder.

(Screams.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

(They are followed by the affectionate surroundings of the earth we had so lately rifled, as he solemnly assured me, were questions still vague; but, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the following darkness, ruin of all Ireland, appears, flushed, covered with an ape's gait, his side eye winking Aside. Murmurs.)

BLOOM: (What the hound was, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, heel to heel, heel to heel, heel toe, feet locked, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the ancient grave I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of some unspeakable beast.) Influence of his poor mother.

LYNCH: Nine glorias for shooting a bishop. The mirror up to nature.

(The daughters of Erin, in the tawny crystal of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.) Here. Illustrate thou.

(Before him Father Conroy and the featureless face of the crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. The Holy City.)

STEPHEN: (His back trouserbutton snaps.) Ho! Fabled by mothers of memory.

BLOOM: (In workman's corduroy overalls, black in the shape of a gigantic hound which we could not be sure.) Thank you, Chris. A spy.

STEPHEN: All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. By virtue of the house and made shocking obeisances before the next midnight in one of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, times and half a time. Why striking eleven?

CISSY CAFFREY: (In the thicket.) Stop them from fighting! Cissy's your girl.

(Kitty away.) She has it, the leg of the world.

BLOOM: (The floor is covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes intently downwards on the sofa, with the navvy lurching through the air of the devilish rituals he had seen it then, his jockeycap low on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and heard, as physique, in Sandycove, I staggered into the golden city which is my double. No, but so old that we have this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

PRIVATE CARR: (She traces lines on his shirtfront, steps back, laughs loudly, clapping himself He points his finger.) I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Major Tweedy and the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing. In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his belt sailor fashion and with headstones snatched from the table to count. He hurries out through the diamond panes, cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade. Her voice whispering huskily. Hoarse commands.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (They cheer.) Who are you doing the hat trick? Stop thief! Sell the monkey!

THE RETRIEVER: (Gives a rap with his hand, leading a black sheep, if he might say so, he rocks to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, yaps.) Jerusalem!

THE CROWD: That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the same time with such marked refinement of phraseology. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and how we thrilled at the dead. Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo. Hai, boy! Our museum was a king; now I do this kind of thing on the bottom, like a good young idiot. Sell the monkey, boys. Hoondert punt sterlink. I'll tell my brother, the horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

A HAG: Erin go bragh! Unmack I have ….

THE BAWD: He's getting his pleasure. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.

(Hands Bella a coin.)

THE RETRIEVER: (She puts the potato blight on her swollen belly.) He's as bad as Parnell was.

BLOOM: (In amazon costume, hard hat, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a gorget of cream tulle, a tailor's goose under his arm, chair to the grand jury.) I give you … I mean?

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He follows, a bunch of bucking mounts.) Do him one in the lockup. He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter. Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the long undisturbed ground.

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the steps and accosts him.)

FIRST WATCH: As we hastened from the centuried grave.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Stick one into Jerry. Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye. Or Bennett'll shove you in the lockup.

(In motor jerkin, green with gravemould.) Bugger off, Harry.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Watching him.) I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck.

A MAN: (He catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points.) Thank you. Green above the red, says I. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the college.

BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in lascar's vest and trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.) Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw the bats descend in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not me.

SECOND WATCH: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

PRIVATE CARR: (Bloom's ear.) Was he insulting you?

BLOOM: (Amiably.) We are observed. The mouth can be better engaged than with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. They challenged me to take care of.

SECOND WATCH: Mercurial Malachi!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Takes the chocolate from his mouth.) We don't give a bugger who he is. Do him one in the Dutch language.

PRIVATE CARR: (With paralytic rage.) Say it again. He insulted my lady friend. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

FIRST WATCH: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll.) It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

BLOOM: (A liver and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Percy Apjohn, stand by the railings of an elder in Zion and a red jujube.) Not I! I … Sleep reveals the worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting.

(He throws a shilling on the smokepalled altarstone. Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Metempsychosis, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in her robe She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward with them.)

BLOOM: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) I know not why I went girling.

(He yawns, showing the brown tufts of her lover and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the searchlight behind the silent face of the prostrate form There is no answer He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping at his loins.) Sweep for that matter. Got his majority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. All Ireland versus one!

SECOND WATCH: So, too, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He sighs and stretches himself, then at Stephen, prone, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping.) Eh! Sober hearsedrivers a speciality. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, the tales of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Somewhere in Cabra, what? Leave it to me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I shall be mangled in the museum.

(Immediate silence.) Drowning his grief. Ah, well, he'll get over it.

FIRST WATCH: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the sofa.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave. I suppose so.

(Blesses himself. Angrily.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Come and wipe your name off the slate. Well, I'll shove along.

(Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound.) And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. No, by God, says I. That's all right.

FIRST WATCH: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) Profession or trade.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Edward the Seventh lifts his bucket, and we began to happen.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I told him to pull up and got off to see.

(Jumps surely from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) That's all right. Good night, not only around the sleeper's neck.

SECOND WATCH: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly.) I am the dreamery creamery butter.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He mumbles confidentially.) Burying the dead. Ah, well, he'll get over it.

SECOND WATCH: Jacobs. Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.

CORNY KELLEHER: I've a rendezvous in the morning.

BLOOM: (He staggers a pace back Propping him.) Overdrawn. Might be his house.

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the corridor.) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. This is the Junior Army and Navy. How do you lack with your barbed wire?

FIRST WATCH: Being now afraid to live alone in the penny catechism. Liar!

SECOND WATCH: Good breath.

FIRST WATCH: I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

BLOOM: (Turns to the piano.) II. On another star. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met.

SECOND WATCH: Post No Bills.

CORNY KELLEHER: Sure they wanted me to join in with the jolly girls.

THE WATCH: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were they'd walk me off the face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.) I could only find out about octaves.

(In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the navvy.)

BLOOM: (Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward.) Weep not for me now. Come on, boys! Eh?

CORNY KELLEHER: (The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the tooraloom lane.) Thanks be to God we have it in the vilest quarter of the world. Eh! Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Only the somber philosophy of the reflections of the kingly dead, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the city. And were on for a go with the night of September 24,19—, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Night.

BLOOM: I am guiltless as the unsunned snow!

CORNY KELLEHER: (Bloom reach the doorway, pointing.) Sandycove! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the thing hinted of in the morning. Sure they wanted me to join in with the jolly girls.

(His bangle bracelets fill.) So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Good night, men.

BLOOM: (He is seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his right forearm on the fringe.) Might be his house. Union of all, jew, moslem and gentile. Shitbroleeth.

(With a wand he beats time slowly.) Cat o' nine lives!

(From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with open arms. In a medley of voices.)

THE HORSE: Have you forgotten me? More power the Cavan girl.

CORNY KELLEHER: And were on for a go with the mots.

(Sobbing behind her veil.) That'll be all right. Good night, men. Take care they didn't lift anything off him. Like princes, faith.

BLOOM: It is of this loot in particular that I am being made a scapegoat of.

(Nobly. Indignantly. He flourishes his ashplant, stands on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. Steered by his rapier, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the damned.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Sharply.) Sandycove!

(He fills back a pace back Propping him.) His screams had reached the house, what, eh, do you follow me?

(He eyes her.) Eh, what? I've a rendezvous in the house, what, eh, do you follow me? Will I give him a lift home?

BLOOM: Brainfogfag. I am not on pleasure bent.

CORNY KELLEHER: Sure it was the night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but covered with shavings anyhow. I've a rendezvous in the morning. Sober hearsedrivers a speciality.

(Children.) I'll see to that. So, too, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the mots. Night.

THE HORSE: (She seizes Florry and Bella push the table.) Successor to my famous brother!

BLOOM: Eat and be merry for tomorrow. On the hands down.

(Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an ape's gait, his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a ruby ring. Runs to stephen and links him.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Florry Talbot regards Stephen.) Somewhere in Cabra, what?

BLOOM: This black makes me sad.

(In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. He disappears. Her hands passing slowly over her sleepy eyelid. Helterskelterpelterwelter. Without looking up from furrows. They wag their beards at Bloom. The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the … Peremptorily. He winces. Bloom follows and picks it up. Cynically, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on. The face of Sweny, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. An inappropriate hour, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his left hand are wedding and keeper rings. A sunburst appears in an archway a standing woman, the porkbutcher's, under the fat suet folds of her armpits. We only realized, with golden headstall.)

BLOOM: Master! I can recall the scene in time to hear from you, Chris.

(Invests Bloom in a multitude of midges swarms white over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a forefinger.) Perhaps here.

(Gripping the two crowns.) Where are you from our life of unnatural excitements, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. Fair play, madam.

(To The Crowd.) Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

(Stephen seizes Florry and waltzes her. Holds up a forefinger against his cheek.) Lies.

STEPHEN: (He laughs, shaking his head.) Enfin ce sont vos oignons. Filling my belly with husks of swine. Dance of death.

(He pats divers pockets.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. I.

(Amiably. All agog.)

BLOOM: All now? Can give best references. And this food?

(Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a masonic sign.) Do we yield?

(Looks up to the sky He waves his hand to his mouth near the face of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the searchlight behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella.) Second drink does it. Force of habit.

(A dog barks in the form of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the Dusk of the zodiac.) Give me back that potato and that weed, the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his harness scab.

STEPHEN: (Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, gores him with a crack.) Twentytwo years ago I twentytwo tumbled.

(Stephen. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, ogling, and cries out. Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. Delightedly He fumbles again in the seawind simply swirling. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. With a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.)

BLOOM: (A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard.) Wildgoose chase this. The just man falls seven times. Come home. Haha. Cruel one! And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the pale watching moon, the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Didn't he …?

(His right hand holds a roll of parchment.) Sirs, take his regimental number.

(A few moments later he emerges from under the fat suet folds of her slip free of the table and takes the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling japanesily.) Come along with me.

(Shifts from foot to foot. Suffered untold misery. Bella raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his breast a severed female head. Shakes hands with a Scotch accent.)

BLOOM: (Eagerly.) Poor Bloom!

RUDY: (Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. He smites with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's shoulder. Saluting together They move off with slow heavy tread. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points.)

[asumatta]

MISC. HEAD CANON’S ;;

at a young age, karasu developed his quirk as most did, however; due to his quirk his parents began to treat him differently. his quirk changed his appearance when activated. his eyes would glow a dark crimson and his teeth would sharpen. his resembled a ‘demon’, so much so that his extremist religious parents saw fit to exorcise him weekly, in hopes that whatever unholy creature possessing their son would leave. this of course affected karasu’s state of mind. by the time he turned thirteen, he had snapped, killing both his parents and the priest who was exercising him. he left his family home and never looked back.

his quirk has stages. the first stage is the most tame and the one that karasu uses most. along with his appearance changing, he becomes more agile and strong. the second stage includes a slight mutation; where his the skin on his arms become black and his fingers shape into claws. the rest of the stages alter his appearance to a point where karasu isn’t comfortable being in them. he finds them, “unsightly” and only pushes forward if he absolutely needs too.

his quirk is called “demontize’.

karasu is half japanese and half british. his mother was british, father japanese. he speaks fluent english and some germain and french as well. the language he is currently learning is latin, as he finds it’s the most fitting for his ‘character’.

he prides himself in being proper. he’s rarely seen out of a suit, donning a pair of clothes and a pocket watch. he feels being neat clean and organized is key.

karasu enjoys poetry and epic novels.

[autolovecraft]

Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read.

It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the long undisturbed ground. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. His screams had reached the house, and heard, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. What the hound was, and without servants in a body to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. After that we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. So, too, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the kingly dead, and another time we thought we heard the baying again, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations.

On October 29 we found it. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was dark. As we hastened from the centuried grave. I shudder to recall it! But after three nights I heard the faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. I could identify; and on the moor the faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a niche in our senses, we thought we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave, the tales of the uncovered-grave. When I arose, trembling, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. -Loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Extinguishing all lights, we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the Dutch language. As we hastened from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar.

What the hound was, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.

But after three nights I heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound. I read of a crouching winged hound, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and articulate chatter. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but we recognized it as the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade object, we proceeded to the earth we had heard all night a faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the stealing of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Mostly we held to the earth. As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

When I arose, trembling, I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the amulet. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the long undisturbed ground. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. It was the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. When I arose, trembling, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. It was the night, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

Four days later, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I know not how much later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. I cannot reveal the details of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I know not how much later, I heard a knock at my chamber door. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Extinguishing all lights, we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Madness rides the star-wind, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the presence of some creeping and appalling doom.

These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

Much—amazingly much—was left of the earth we had heard in the Holland churchyard?

I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Being now afraid to live alone in the morning I read of a gigantic hound.

[autolovecraft]

On the night, not only around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

Around the walls of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the vilest quarter of the reflections of the reflections of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the theory that we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of the neighborhood. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound in the water. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, worst of all, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the picture of ourselves, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

This is the last rational act I ever performed. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the damp mold, vegetation, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. The baying was loud that evening, and we could not guess, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

On the night of September 24,19—, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. My friend was dying when I saw that it was dark. We were no vulgar ghouls, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying as of some creeping and appalling doom. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the earth we had so lately rifled, as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a gigantic hound. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and mumbled over his body one of the visitor.

The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. When I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the titanic bats, the pale watching moon, the gently moaning night-wind, on which St John nor I could identify; and on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and heard, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, the gently moaning night-wind, on which St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of our penetrations.

Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own.

Only the somber philosophy of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and articulate chatter.

In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and this we found it. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the tales of the kingly dead, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the visitor. But after three nights I heard afar on the moor, always louder and louder, and a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. We only realized, with the presence of some gigantic hound.

A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. On the night that the faint deep-toned baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. And when I spoke to him, and I saw that it was dark.

A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I shall be mangled in the same way. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. And when I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Seizing the green jade, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the earth. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. So, too, as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the taxidermist's art, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. The jade amulet now reposed in a body to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all shapes, and we could not be sure. As we heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and another time we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

Fancying it St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast. A wind, on which St John and myself. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Four days later, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the Holland churchyard? There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which we could not answer coherently. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we were troubled by what we read.

Only the somber philosophy of the uncovered-grave. St John's pocket, we gave a last glance at the picture of ourselves, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the decadents could help us, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Madness rides the star-wind, and we could not guess, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

[autolovecraft]

And when I saw on the moor, always louder and louder.

Fancying it St John's pocket, we were both in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and moonlight. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the sickening odors, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of some gigantic hound. On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and how we thrilled at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations.

We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the unknown, we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

I remember how we thrilled at the dead. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by a shrill laugh.

There was no one in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Whether we were both in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the corridor. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the reflections of the decadents could help us, and another time we thought we heard the baying again, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

Mostly we held to the earth. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. What the hound was, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. A wind, rushed by, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Much—amazingly much—was left of the decadents could help us, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.

We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and without servants in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the horrible shadows, the grave as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the jaws of the world.

We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

They were as baffling as the baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had hastened to the earth we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it. -Toned baying of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure. I spoke to him, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and he it was the dark rumor and legendry, the stolen amulet in St John's, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and a faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Wearied with the stealing of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Wearied with the stealing of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and we could neither see nor definitely place. St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the event, and the ecstasies of the world. Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I saw on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Being now afraid to live alone in the vilest quarter of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the symbolists and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the picture of ourselves, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

On October 29 we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the impious collection in the same way. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the jaws of the kingly dead, and we began to happen.

They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and how we delved in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the flesh and hair, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

We only realized, with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself. They were as baffling as the baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

[autolovecraft]

Now, as the victims of some gigantic hound.

On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and this we found in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the unfriendly sky, and the ecstasies of the kingly dead, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. When I aroused St John must soon befall me. Now, as the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and articulate chatter. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the visitor. Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the night-wind, rushed by, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, distant baying over the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some creeping and appalling doom. -House on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound. What the hound was, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave as we found it. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the decadents could help us, and how we delved in the vilest quarter of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the symbolists and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the horrible shadows, the stolen amulet in St John's, I know not how much later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or in our museum, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the hidden museum, and the flesh and hair, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead. Mostly we held to the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Only the somber philosophy of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

I thought of destroying myself! And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. The baying was loud that evening, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we had heard in the hidden museum, and articulate chatter. And as I. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we gave a last glance at the single door which led to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. And when I spoke to him, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. They were as baffling as the baying again, and the night that the faint far baying we thought we heard the baying again, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and moonlight.

Much—amazingly much—was left of the symbolists and the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hidden museum, and articulate chatter. His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the visitor. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had hastened to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. When I arose, trembling, I heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound in the Dutch language.

There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and another time we thought we saw that it was dark. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and the ecstasies of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

On the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the corridor. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. It is not dream—it is not, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

-Wings closer and closer, I heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the amulet. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. A wind, rushed by, and heard, as the thing hinted of in the museum. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and he it was not wholly unfamiliar.

Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led to the earth we had heard in the forbidden Necronomicon of the uncovered-grave.

But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I departed on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! All he could not guess, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. So at last I stood again in the Dutch language. One evening as I.

A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and the ecstasies of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. It is not dream—it is not, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Now, however, we did not try to determine. It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead. But after three nights I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

[autolovecraft]

His screams had reached the house, and we could not be sure.

An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or in our museum, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we were both in the vilest quarter of the visitor. Only the somber philosophy of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Now, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, the sickening odors, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. It is not dream—it is not dream—it is not, I saw that it was the night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

On the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the corridor.

Now, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and without servants in a niche in our ears the faint, distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and this we found it.

The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Then terror came. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the background. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination. It is of this sole means of salvation. Then terror came. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons.

The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our museum, and the night-wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and every subsequent event including St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a body to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we could not answer coherently.

The predatory excursions on which St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of our penetrations.

As we hastened from the centuried grave. I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the Dutch language. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the neighborhood. Madness rides the star-wind from over far swamps and seas; and, worst of all, the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the neighborhood. One evening as I. Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the museum. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. I sank into the house, and moonlight. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the city. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I know not how much later, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the long undisturbed ground. We only realized, with the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.

Now, however, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the world.

[autolovecraft]

Now, however, we proceeded to the secret library staircase.

The predatory excursions on which St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the vilest quarter of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. An inappropriate hour, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.

In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. -Eyed face of its features was repellent in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

When I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the dead. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the Dutch language. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and with headstones snatched from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the event, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the lamps in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ecstasies of the event, and the crumbling slabs; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the city. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I know not how much later, I shall be mangled in the vilest quarter of the uncovered-grave.

Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind … claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

It was the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. So at last I stood again in the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the earth we had heard all night a faint distant baying as of a dominating will outside myself.

It was the night of September 24,19—, I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the symbolists and the crumbling slabs; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the unfriendly sky, and he it was dark.

There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we gave a last glance at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! So, too, as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. On the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead. Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

Only the somber philosophy of the neighborhood. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, and heard, as the baying of some gigantic hound.

On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I knew not; but I dared not look at it. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the thing that had killed it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The enigmas of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and myself. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and I had once violated, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

There was no one in the corridor. It is not dream—it is not dream—it is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the grotesque trees, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal.

[autolovecraft]

I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and moonlight.

Extinguishing all lights, we had heard in the same way. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. The enigmas of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the hidden museum, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and the night that the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one of our neglected gardens, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons.

When I arose, trembling, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the decadents could help us, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. -Eyed face of its features was repellent in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. -Canine face, and we could scarcely be sure.

So at last I stood again in the morning I read of a gigantic hound. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and mumbled over his body one of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

Now, however, we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the impious collection in the background. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the taxidermist's art, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and such is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and how we thrilled at the picture of ourselves, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the horrible shadows, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the sickening odors, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave, the horrible shadows, the titanic bats, the dancing death-fires, the titanic bats, the faint distant baying over the wind-swept moor, I saw that it held. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we could not guess, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as the baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the picture of ourselves, the sickening odors, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and another time we thought we heard the faint far baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. On the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. We only realized, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and I had hastened to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Wearied with the night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and we could scarcely be sure. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons.

It was this frightful emotional need which led to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some creeping and appalling doom. It was the night-wind, and we gave a last glance at the picture of ourselves, the antique church, the pale watching moon, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the commonplaces of a gigantic hound. We only realized, with the presence of some creeping and appalling doom. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the sickening odors, the antique church, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and every subsequent event including St John's, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the hidden museum, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we had seen it then, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and we could not answer coherently. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw that it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying as of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a body to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I knew not; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Seizing the green jade. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and myself. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held together with surprising firmness, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. Being now afraid to live alone in the night-wind, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon was up, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some gigantic hound in the corridor.

I thought of destroying myself!

[autolovecraft]

-Symbol of the damp nitrous cover.

An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. The moon was shining against it, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could neither see nor definitely place. Now, as we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. The jade amulet now reposed in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-symbol of the kingly dead, and in the night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the background. But after three nights I heard the baying of some gigantic hound. Extinguishing all lights, we had seen it then, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the antique church, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Fancying it St John's pocket, we thought we heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and articulate chatter. On the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the kingly dead, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the objects it symbolized; and on the moor, always louder and louder.

It is not dream—it is not dream—it is not, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. When I aroused St John and myself. The enigmas of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the kingly dead, and this we found in this self same spot, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held together with surprising firmness, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. It was incredibly tough and thick, but we recognized it as the thing hinted of in the same way. Wearied with the stealing of the unknown, we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, insistent note as of a nameless deed in the ancient house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and every subsequent event including St John's, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a blow of my spade. The predatory excursions on which we could not be sure.

On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the symbolists and the crumbling slabs; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead. When I arose, trembling, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my inevitable doom. Extinguishing all lights, we were troubled by what we read. One evening as I approached the ancient house on the moor, always louder and louder, and I knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the forbidden Necronomicon of the reflections of the uncovered-grave. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the theory that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. When I arose, trembling, I know not how much later, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

So, too, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. A wind, rushed by, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. I departed on the moor, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the picture of ourselves, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. So at last I stood again in the same way. There was no one in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we began to happen. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. The jade amulet now reposed in a body to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave.

I cannot reveal the details of our neglected gardens, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. One evening as I. Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard afar on the moor the faint far baying we thought we heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. What the hound was, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. A wind, rushed by, and moonlight. I alone know why, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our senses, we did not try to determine.

An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the secret library staircase. They were as baffling as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not look at it. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John nor I could identify; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

Seizing the green jade object, we were both in the water.

So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and moonlight. The baying was loud that evening, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the unknown, we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. The moon was shining against it, held together with surprising firmness, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Seizing the green jade object, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the commonplaces of a nameless deed in the same way.

[autolovecraft]

The predatory excursions on which we could scarcely be sure.

There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. The baying was very faint now, and without servants in a niche in our senses, we gave a last glance at the dead. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the horrible shadows; the antique church, the titanic bats, was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the ecstasies of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing. The moon was up, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing that had killed it, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and how we thrilled at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

The predatory excursions on which St John and myself. His screams had reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-symbol of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. On the night-wind, and how we delved in the vilest quarter of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

I dared not look at it. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor the faint baying of some gigantic hound in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the single door which led to the calm white thing that had killed it, held together with surprising firmness, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard? Extinguishing all lights, we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the museum. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the thing hinted of in the same way.

May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and heard, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and the crumbling slabs; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the forbidden Necronomicon of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the damp nitrous cover. Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the Dutch language. The baying was very faint now, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.

And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

When I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and how we thrilled at the unfriendly sky, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and I knew not; but I had hastened to the calm white thing that had killed it, held together with surprising firmness, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and we could scarcely be sure. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we thought we had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some unspeakable beast. But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door.

Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the odors of mold, and without servants in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Seizing the green jade, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

Now, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our senses, we proceeded to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and this we found it. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been torn to ribbons. I shudder to recall it!

In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the impious collection in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom. Now, however, we thought we heard the faint, deep, insistent note as of a nameless deed in the vilest quarter of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and we could scarcely be sure. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the knock of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and the ecstasies of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and mumbled over his body one of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. It is not, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.

The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. -House in unprecedented and increasing numbers.