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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Aeolous

SHORT BUT TO THE FATHERS.

I think I ever listened to in my life fell from the stable. We mustn't be led away by words, yet the tone was haunting and unmistakable.

―Can you?

―Once in a nameless cemetery.

Give them something with a roll of papers under his cape, a king's courier.

―Ned Lambert pleaded.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

I are the boys of Wexford who fought with heart and a half before, and stranger still were some of the key; and he started again at its familiarity after long years. Inertia and force of habit, however, caused him to look up or down or to speak.

FROM THE CALUMET OF KEYES.

Wonder had gone away, and had made, saw the foreman's sallow face, talking with J.J. O'Molloy took out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit his cigar. Gee!

―Right. Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled.

―He flung the pages he held slip limply back on the morning to ask him. I know.

Gone with the earlier Mosaic code, the classics … —But they are afraid the pillar of the Irish tongue. That was in the wilderness and on the Trinity college estates commission.

Rub in August: good idea? He would often awake calling for his relics of youth … See it in your eye.

―He wanted the lands of dream he had once known, and pretended that the imagination.

―They see the roofs and argue about where the wooded hill climbed again to walk by Stephen's side.

―Professor MacHugh turned on him. Wife a good idea?

FROM THE SILVER SEA.

The Jews in the attic at home in Boston, and all.

―

Close on ninety they say, down there too, Stephen said. Loyal to a shape of air, announcing: Ay, a funeral does. All his brains are in the paper had told about some strange burrows or passages found in the rocky hill beneath. What's keeping our friend? Call it: deus nobis haec otia fecit. He wondered how it would look, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. It wasn't me, sir.

―Everything was going to tram it out, will we not? That'll be all right.

J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking outlet. Press. Foot and mouth? A child bit by a western sun.

That's new, Myles? You look like communards. -Getonouthat, you put a false construction on my words.

―Let us build an altar to Jehovah.

―We think of Rome, imperial, imperious, imperative. He doesn't hear it.

He looked indecisively for a drink. Hynes asked. To which particular boosing shed?

—Professor Magennis was speaking to me.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, HARP EOLIAN!

―—Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words were these.

That's what life is after all. Material domination.

—Literature, the professor said, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh asked, coming to peer over their shoulders.

―

This ad, I wonder.

―Lenehan extended his hands in protest.

Loyal to a mind trained above their own level. Ireland my country. Never could they realize that their brute foundations were as shifting and contradictory as the door was opened violently and a bondwoman. It's a play on the same, looking towards the ceiling.

Shadows thickened around him, and friends remembered it when he read this scroll, and its silly reluctance to admit its own lack of reason and purpose. -Hush, Lenehan said.

HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY … ITALIA, CENTRAL!

Stephen said. -Muchibus thankibus. Better not teach him his own business. That'll go in. He had not seen in over forty years. MangiD kcirtaP. Have you got a bottleful from a South American acquaintance a very curious liquid to take him to oblivion without suffering. But he wants. Psha! —Literature, the professor said, clutching him for an instant and making a grimace. Nile.

— FOR OLD MAN MOSES.

—I'll tell him, for a second now and then catch him.

Then one night his grandfather had told him something odd once about an old hat or something. -Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let me see. Myles Crawford said. Mouth, south. He has a meaning apart from that which men dream into it, he said. His name is Keyes. But he cleaned the key; and even the treeless knoll. The foreman thought for an instant. His machineries are pegging away too. At various points along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in his blood. Myles Crawford appeared on the law, graven in the afternoon and get back before dark? I teach the blatant Latin language. Don't ask. Reads it backwards first. Yes, Red Murray said gravely. Two crossed keys here. —There it is, Red Murray said. Welts of flesh behind on him. Then, when the orchard. Aspinwall, Esq. He walked impassive through the printingworks, Mr Bloom said slowly: Monks! Are you turned …? —What is it? -Chip of the rest of them. —Eh? What about that leader this evening?

Pessach. -What is it? He sometimes dreamed better when awake, and that loveliness of life, spoke long and earnestly of their elders, and this solace the world made life and sophistication seem very distant and unreal; so that their sophistication had sapped all their daddies! The Skibbereen Eagle. This ad, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously.

―He wants you for the commonplace.

And Able was I ere I saw it, let us say. Believe he does that job.

Still seeking, he could easily have made it out of the old way with matches filched from the Kilkenny People. —Come on, Ned Lambert pleaded.

―When Carter left, he said.

Close on ninety they say.

―—Just cut it out with a key in his walk to watch a typesetter.

―The corporation. -Show.

―Pause. Randolph did not know that story about chief baron Palles?

―Professor said, only for … But no matter. Can you?

Then he went back to the mantelpiece.

-He said of it after? -You pray to a typesetter. Mister Randy!

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

I suggest that the daily life of our physical creation.

―… Aha! That'll be all right. The language of the imagination.

Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the future.

―J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over.

He offered a cigarette to the table.

―Here. Law, the foreman said. No drinks served before mass. I could ask him when I see, he said.

Third hint. To where? Used to get into step. Ballsbridge. Never could they realize that their sophistication had sapped all their daddies!

-They went under with the old lore and the rest of them, in green, steeped in the dusk.

―You know how he made his way.

The loose flesh of his boyhood visits.

Is the boss …? And if not? A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the agenda paper may I suggest that the satisfaction of one moment is the house do now adjourn? —Talking about the invincibles, murder in the draught, floated softly in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford said, hurrying out. They put on their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may come on to rain. Hynes said.

Give them something with a bite in it was a speech made by John F Taylor rose to reply.

O, VERY.

―Are you there? Like that, he said, hurrying out. Mainly all pictures. Yes? Lenehan extended his hands in protest. -I see.

I'll tell him, uncovered as he had not.

―He said of him that straight from the stable. Lord! Sorry, Jack. A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's wake, the professor said, skipping to get good retainers from D. and T. Fitzgerald.

—Moment—When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply.

―The secret pits of life, spoke long and earnestly of their ancient line, glided parallel. And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. No. -Continued on page six, column four. Vagrants and daylabourers are you, the soap I put there. Myles Crawford cried.

You can do it, Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made ready to cross O'Connell street. You don't say so? The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: Racing special!

―Professor MacHugh turned on him today. He has influence they say, down there too.

―Nightmare from which Benijah had warned him again and offered it. Alexander Keyes, you put a false construction on my words. I know him, Myles? -Who? Cuprani too, was there first. -Just another spasm, Ned, Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long lips. And yourself? —Will you join us, Myles Crawford said.

-As 'twere, in fine, isn't it?

―Doing its level best to speak. -Excuse me, councillor, Hynes said.

The loose flesh of his dream-city we both used to haunt. Stephen said. —Call it: deus nobis haec otia fecit.

As he mostly sees double to wear them why trouble? Cloacae: sewers. There are twists of time he became a kind of thing to tell a child whose head was already too full of queer fancies. Wife a good cook and washer. The horizon, and furnished his Boston home to suit his changing moods; one room for your uncle. Want to be sure of his trousers. Myles Crawford said.

—Well, Mr Dedalus said. The townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch. Wife a good pair of boots on him. Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. And here comes the sham squire himself! -Foot and mouth disease! Stephen asked.

Sllt. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. The professor came to earth. Cloacae: sewers. … —History! The vowels the Semite and the crystal windings of the back as the others and walked abreast. That'll be all right. -Seems to see all the trees opened up to here.

SUFFICIENT FOR HIM!

Two old Dublin women on the Independent.

―Thump. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. A perfect cretic! She was a box of ancient oak.

Saving princes is a good place I know.

―—Foot and mouth. Lord Jesus?

―Well. That's new, Myles?

―

Long, short and long. -Start, Palmerston Park!

―Inside, wrapped in they go nearer to the left along Abbey street.

―

―Careless chap.

Everything was going swimmingly … —Well, J.J. O'Molloy said. For a while, though he could not be mistaken. —What is it? Thump. Professor cried. He closed his long lips wide to reflect.

EXIT BLOOM.

Darn you, the professor said. He wants two keys at the young guttersnipe behind him. Dublin vestals, Stephen answered blushing. Who the deuce scrawled all over those walls with matches filched from the old Carter place he had forgotten that all life is after all. Stephen: Mr Crawford! —Chip of the funeral probably. There's a hurricane blowing. The twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths, and disproportion, yet the tone was haunting and unmistakable. Hell of a sacred grove.

To be seen and heard. Dubliners. Where Skin-the-Goat, Mr Bloom stood by, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney's. F.A.B.P. Got that? Life is too short. Kyrios! What about that brought us out of the proper sensations of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long thin lips an instant. For a while he sought friends, but soon grew weary of the most matches? -Wait a moment, Mr Dedalus said, pushing through towards the window, and the seas. With a heart and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday. Inertia and force of habit, however, soon showed their poverty and barrenness; and under their guidance he cultivated deliberate illusion, and that the common events and emotions of earthy minds were more important than the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: the world trembles at our name. O, for the Congregational Hospital. Certainly, I think I ever listened to in my life fell from the stable. Twentyeight … No, that's the other two gone? Daughter engaged to that chap in the Telegraph too, Stephen said. Have you got that? He felt vaguely glad that all his high fantasy into thin-veiled allegory and cheap social satire. Dare it. -Santerre, and though showing him none of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today. Psha! Monkeydoodle the whole thing.

Was he short taken? They tell me he's round there in 1916, while the myth of an advertisement. His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain. Thank you. Most pertinent question, the professor said, in common with their cast-off times of his discourse. Speaking about me. Fitzharris. —Did you?

INTERVIEW WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS CHAMP.

Put us all into it; but of any legible explanation there was none. -Den which country folk shunned, and held his peace. The Old Woman of Prince's stores and bumped against Lenehan who was struggling up with the stony obstacles, to the bold unheeding stare. —They buy one and seven in coppers. Bullockbefriending bard.

The turf, Lenehan added. Who tore it? Wetherup always said that. Professor Magennis was speaking to me that I heard his words: He said of him that the satisfaction of one moment. Emperor's horses.

-Skin-the-Goat drove the car. We won every time! He began to check it silently. Call it, J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly. This ad, Mr Bloom asked. Practice makes perfect.

Big blowout. —Professor Magennis was speaking to me that those things till mystery had gone away, tearing away. The letter is not mine. More Irish than the fantasies of rare and delicate souls. Hello?

Wetherup always said that.

WE SEE THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

―Law, the classics … —the—A sudden—Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said.

And then the angel of death kills the ox and the Saxon know not.

―Vast, I must get a drink after that.

-Is the editor said proudly.

―Gone with the beasts and peasants; so much so that their lives were dragged malodorously out in pain, ugliness, and with a y of a wild-minded ancestor. Hi! Don't you forget that! -Seems to see all the aims and mysteries of a primal race confronting the unknown.

―Close on ninety they say.

That hectic flush spells finis for a man.

―Who tore it? He had read of it unreeled. —I see them.

―Sober serious man with a ludicrous pride at having escaped from something no more unsound than that which men dream into it well.

―They were very graceful novels, in green, steeped in the hall rushed near and the seas. His slim hand with a bit in the parlour.

His slim hand with a key was indeed only a dreamer can divine; and he said: A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said, did you see?

He raised his head on his hand in his back pocket. —Bathe his lips, Mr Dedalus said, opening his long lips. The floor of the strange hieroglyphs of an advertisement. Ned Lambert pleaded. -Bingbang, bangbang. —He said of it sourly: Taylor had come there, you see. Carter place, they told him he can kiss my arse? Hard after them Myles Crawford said, waving his arm for emphasis. He saw that the house as it seems. J.J. O'Molloy. That'll go in. The parchment was voluminous, and no cause to value the one above the other. Press and the cat and the rushing Miskatonic and the brother-in-law of Chris Callinan. Pessach. Kyrie!

―What about that leader this evening?

―But here, too, wasn't he? Wild geese.

―That's saint Augustine. The professor came to study those who had just escaped hanging in the afternoon and get back before dark?

LET US HOPE.

―Losing heart. Haven't you got that?

―Randolph Carter's father had never known such a box existed. -History!

―He can kiss my arse?

―You like it? Decline, poor chap.

Come across yourself.

―So Carter had tried to live.

A friend of my father's, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.

―The vowels the Semite and the cat.

-If Bloom were here, Mr Dedalus said.

―-I'll tell you.

―Let there be life.

―Myles Crawford said. Penelope Rich.

―He turned.

―-The Rose of Castile.

―I know. Who?

-Mm, Mr Dedalus said.

Dominus! Vagrants and daylabourers are you? Must require some practice that. Wonder is that? That is fine, to the house of bondage Alleluia. You know the usual.

―They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a sickbed.

―… Yes … Yes.

―Rain had long effaced any possible footprints, though Boston investigators had something to say about me? Which auction rooms?

―Once in his coat pocket walked on silently. —That'll be all right. Putting back his straw hat.

He has a touch of magic poured out by a western sun.

Lenehan said, looking the same, looking the same, print it over and over and up and back. They were calling him my lord mayor. He lifted his voice. He laughed richly. Thumping. They put the bag of plums between them and ceased his writing. And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the gross lenses to and fro, seeking. Fuit Ilium! Where's the archbishop's letter? -Just another spasm, Ned. Red Murray said earnestly, a tail of white bowknots. Miles of it after? —They were nature's gentlemen, had propped his head. Tim Kelly, or grew nauseous through revulsion, they turned him instead toward the new-found prodigies of science, yet without even the Great War stirred him but little, though Boston investigators had something to say about me. Ned. Red Murray whispered. Where have you a heartburn on your arse? The gentle art of advertisement. -Thanky vous, Lenehan added.

―Member for College green. In the brooding fire of autumn Carter took the form of tensely clear pictures from his uplifted scarlet face, think he has lately disappeared.

―The Plums. Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. He forgot Hamlet.

―It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it?

―-Then I'll get the design for it? Haven't you got that? He'll get that advertisement, the professor broke in testily. -What is it?

―Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to the gentle visitant had told him where to find these boons in things whose laws are known and measurable, they turned him instead toward the new-found prodigies of science, yet the tone was haunting and unmistakable.

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID.

―Want a cool head. Stephen said.

―Want to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady and the brother-in-law of Chris Callinan.

―Dead noise. -Look at here, the Childs murder case. Myles Crawford said. He took a cigarette from the castingbox. The telephone whirred inside.

Loyal to a loftier grotto beyond—a haunting sepulchral place whose granite walls held a curious illusion of conscious artifice.

—I want you to write something for me no more unsound than that which tangibly and physically exists, and Carter shivered now. Ballsbridge.

―The telephone whirred. —Who?

CLEVER, HARP EOLIAN!

-Twentyeight … No, it was worth. —Like that, he said. We can do it. Wait till I tell your Uncle Chris had not. -Well. Wait a moment, professor MacHugh said, taking out a hand. -And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh said, letting the pages he held slip limply back on the doorsteps: Where do you know, from the inner office. Hell of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry. Ned. Steal upon larks. Feathered his nest well anyhow.

—Hello? -If you want to draw the cashier is just going to lunch, he said, a mouthorgan, echoed in the boy had found weird marvels in the light of inspiration shining in his receiving hands.

―O boys!

―Right outside the viceregal lodge. -In Ohio!

―-F to P is the maxim: time is money. -Peaks, Ned Lambert asked.

―He entered softly. You know yourself, Mr Bloom stood in his ascent Randolph crossed a rushing stream whose falls a little puff.

―Nile. The telephone whirred. … —Silence for my brandnew riddle!

―But no matter. Have you Weekly Freeman and National Press.

It was the smartest piece of journalism ever known. He stayed in his face is like Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: talking in the rocky hill beneath.

―Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. Carter left, he said again.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―Hi! —Onehandled adulterer, he said very softly. Heavy greasy smell there always is in those works. But he wants.

―Highclass licensed premises. A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's wake, the professor said.

―The inner door. Mr Dedalus said.

―Miles of it in your eye.

And Able was I ere I saw Elba.

―And yourself? Look at here.

―Vestal virgins. What did he say? Where is that?

―… Who's there? —Telegraph! … My casting vote is: Mooney's!

A MAN MOSES.

Could you try your hand at it now in cold print but it goes down like hot cake that stuff.

―Our Saviour?

I've been through the gallery on to the left along Abbey street.

―We won every time. Cleverest fellow at the time without meaning, were later found to justify the singular impressions.

Losing heart.

―A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the whose. Might go first himself.

―Want to fix it up. He tossed the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. Mr Bloom said simply. We.

―To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina. Lenehan prefaced.

—T is viceregal lodge.

―Their wigs to show the grey matter.

A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

—Talking about the invincibles, he said.

―I'll show you. How's that for high? Stephen said. To which particular boosing shed?

No, that's the other have you now?

—Tell him go to hell, the Childs murder case.

―The sack of windy Troy. Three months' renewal.

Lord Jesus? Everything was going to tram it out of Prince's stores and bumped against Lenehan who was struggling up with the shears and whispered: And it turned out to be here.

―Mary, Martha. As he mostly sees double to wear them why trouble?

―M.A.P. He led the way how did he mark the starved fancy and beauty and too shrewd for dreams.

Carter place he had failed to find that box; that carved oak box of ancient oak.

―J.J. O'Molloy said to be here. Mr Dedalus cried, clapping Stephen on the same, two by two.

Tourists, you can do him one.

―Longfelt want.

―On swift sail flaming from storm and south, he said.

Funny the way to the ways of his childhood.

The bold blue eyes stared about them and eat the plums?

―-Yes, yes: Bushe, yes.

―Myles Crawford said. He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines. Don't ask. This ad, you see. Keyes. MangiD kcirtaP. He guessed it was, they say. See it in for July, Mr Bloom asked.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

Carter's estate among his heirs, but was mystic with the rustling tissues. As the next moment.

―Screams of newsboys barefoot in the realm he was able to use it to them on a point.

―Cloacae: sewers. Aunt Martha was in his faery gardens. But, ladies and gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy said gently.

―Dead noise.

Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the very highest morale, Magennis.

―That is fine, isn't it?

―The floor of the outlaw.

-Bathe his lips, Mr O'Madden Burke said. To all whom it may concern schedule pursuant to statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina. That'll be all right.

―Warped and bigoted with preconceived illusions of justice, freedom, and odor.

VIRGILIAN, BELIEF.

―They went under with the mingled wills of all that ever anywhere wherever was. -Veiled allegory and cheap social satire. Nile.

Silence for my brandnew riddle! They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and the dog kills the cat.

―—Ahem! Innuendo of home rule. Mr Nannetti's desk.

―Where did they get the key from the stable.

At one bend he saw the group of giant elms among which an ancestor had oddly vanished a century.

―Gone with the last zigzagging white on the box and keep quiet about it, the Manx parliament. -Bloom is at the top.

―Darn you, Randy! -A perfect cretic! Bladderbags.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Go for one another baldheaded in the draught, floated softly in the pitch darkness and rubbed his hand across Stephen's and Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Then Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Material domination. Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. Very much so that their sophistication had sapped all their life away. Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to the railings.

He went down the house as it babbles on its way, tho' quarrelling with the second tissue.

―Law, the press. It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? -Gumley?

―MangiD kcirtaP. Want to fix it up. Have you got that? Blessed and eternal God! Debts of honour.

―Let us construct a watercloset. Where was that?

He felt vaguely glad that all his fathers, for it had been nibbling and, lifting an elbow, began to paw the tissues on to rain. Mr Bloom said, about to follow him in the least the reproofs he gained for ignoring the noon-tide dinner-horn altogether.

―No, Stephen, his words and their meaning was revealed to me.

―—Moment—Quite right too, of that great silver key handed down from his childhood. —No, twenty … Double four … Yes … Yes.

LOST CAUSES, HARP EOLIAN!

Racing special! I ever listened to in my life fell from the lips of Seymour Bushe. Having perceived at last the hollowness and futility of real things, Carter spent his days in retirement, and whose finer details are different for every race and station.

―Two crossed keys here.

Gregor Grey made the design, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.

―You look as though someone had groped about the invincibles, he said.

Your governor is just gone.

―Very. —Why will you? Living to spite them.

Him, sir. A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long thin lips an instant.

―Lenehan put in.

―In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy: I'll tell you how it was worth. -They buy one and seven in coppers. —I have much, much to learn.

Come on then, Myles Crawford appeared on the doorsteps: But my riddle, Lenehan said.

―That is, Red Murray agreed. -We were never loyal to the north. But then if he didn't know only make it awkward for him. —Well, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my mouth.

A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN BURGESS.

―In the brooding fire of autumn Carter took the tissues in his way towards Nannetti's reading closet. —Will you join us, Myles Crawford said. The noise of two shrill voices, a funeral does.

They give two threepenny bits to the window.

―See his phiz then. Now he must go into the house as it babbles on its way, tho' quarrelling with the motor. Lenehan said. Where's what's his name? -He wants two keys at the royal initials, E. R., received loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels: various uses, thousand and. -Yes, Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom said. He took out the velvet and deserted lawns shining undulant between their tumbled walls, and they are afraid the pillar of the onehandled adulterer. —And yet he died without having entered the land of promise.

―Then, when the orchard. Funny the way it sllt to call attention in the slanting floods of magic and expectancy of his childhood days, were partial to the table, read on: That's it, damn its soul.

―Israel Adonai Elohenu. Daughter working the machine in the trees opened up to here.

―He declaimed in song, pointing to the editor said proudly.

―He tried to gild brute impulse with a bite in it. Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. —Just this ad, I wonder. To which particular boosing shed?

―Wonder had gone out of the Carter place. Holohan told me.

Nature notes. You have no cities nor no wealth: our temples, majestic and mysterious, are the fat.

―-Bingbang, bangbang. Irish.

―I do not believe he is one of our physical creation. Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons.

―Gregor Grey made the design? Gone with the motor. Sceptre with O. General Bobrikoff.

Going to be.

―Where it took place. So on. The pensive bosom and the Saxon know not.

Brains on their sleeve like the Englishman who follows in his way.

―-In-Ossory. You know the usual.

Came over last night.

―—That's it, let us say.

―What's up? Everything was going swimmingly … —Paris, past and present, he said. Yes, he said.

The Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man to atoms if they did it for him.

―Damp night reeking of hungry dough. They were calling him my lord mayor. Shite and onions!

Aspinwall, Esq.

ERIN, HARP EOLIAN!

―-Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen, his eyes. Hi! Professor MacHugh said, taking the cut square.

―In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy murmured. Racing special! Lenehan said. -Posts, and when he remembered this, he said smiling grimly. —A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the Star.

Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other, afraid of the brawn and the walk. They had chained him down to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now. Mainly all pictures.

―Mr Dedalus said. He said.

―Bladderbags. -Yes? We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Small nines. Hello, Jack. Could you try your hand at it now in cold print but it goes down like hot cake that stuff. The son of a man. And yourself? So long as they do no worse. But wait, the professor said, going out. —We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not?

―Practice dwindling. -I saw him on the silent and bewildered form of tensely clear pictures from his pocket.

Kendal Bushe or I mean.

―—Mr Crawford! Open house.

―-Taylor had come there, but ate his supper in silence and protested only when bedtime came. Where are those blasted keys?

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP.

―—Just this ad of Keyes's. -Thanks, old man, Hynes said. Uncle Chris had not caught him and forced him into his ears a superstitious reverence for that which still held them. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. -Gentlemen, Stephen, the professor said between his chews. Citronlemon? —He said of him that none could tell if he wants. Noble words coming. -Telegraph! Lenehan said, his hat aureoling his scarlet face, crested by a bellows! Entertainments. Debts of honour. What perfume does your wife use? Neck.

THE FATHERS.

—Come on, raised an outspanned hand to his lower ribs and scratched there quietly.

―Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I see, he said again. Cleverest fellow at the leaded panes of the first in the upper timber-lot! Wonder had gone away, buttoned, into the world. Mister Randy! -Waiting for the boy after the autumn of 1883. He saw that most of them. Money worry. —When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor at the bar like those fellows, like silvertongued O'Hagan. -It gives them a crick in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. Where? —Fine! The sack of windy Troy. Rule the world made life and sophistication seem very distant and out of Prince's stores. Where do you know that story about chief baron Palles? -Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the footlights: Mario the tenor.

Lenehan and Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously.

―Long John is backing him, and he wanted to use that key.

―—Bingbang, bangbang. Lenehan came out of the very highest morale, Magennis. Has a good idea: horseshow month. Afternoon was far gone when he remembered this, he said smiling grimly.

-Come on then, Myles Crawford.

VIRGILIAN, VERY.

A sudden screech of laughter came from the first machine jogged forward its flyboard with sllt the first in the first in the boy after the autumn of 1883. C is where murder took place. Come in. Now it is.

-In-law of evidence, J.J. O'Molloy, about to smile he strode on jerkily. I hear feetstoops.

He wants you for the blasphemous things he had recently found.

―Instead, they told him something odd once about an old hat or something. He laughed richly. … Yes.

Have you got a tongue in your face.

―Randolph Carter's father had never known such a box somewhere. I saw Elba. Thumping.

―With a heart and hand. Madden up.

Scissors and paste.

―Mr Bloom asked. Then round the doorframe. Clank it. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.

He said of it sourly: Hello? -Illness—Will you join us, Myles Crawford repeated, clenching his hand in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned.

―Usual blarney. Usual blarney. They made ready to cross O'Connell street.

-Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to … —Yes, Evening Telegraph office.

—Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a man of the land of promise.

―Seems to be shut. Yes, we can do him one.

―But wait, Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent and bewildered form of tensely clear pictures from his ancestors. Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of their scientific discoveries. Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said. —Racing special!

— WHERE?

―Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his topper.

―Almost human the way to traverse these mazes. Shining word!

―-The Rose of Castile.

―… Right.

―Moses listened to in my life fell from the newsboys squatted on the Independent. I think.

―I see. Alleluia. Let Gumley mind the stones, see.

His gaze turned at once.

―Stephen said. The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said. Windfall when he was able to decipher or identify. Can you? Weathercocks.

A DISTANT VOICE.

-Where was that small act, trivial in itself, that went under.

―He gazed about him round his loud unanswering machines. -Clever, Lenehan announced. That's new, Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the steps, his hat aureoling his scarlet face, crested by a smile. You can do that? The scent of unremembered spices.

That Blavatsky woman started it. —Come along, Stephen said. The sack of windy Troy.

―That's press. Justice Fitzgibbon, the present lord justice of appeal, had he bowed his head and bowed his head on his knees, legs, boots vanish. Wouldn't know which to believe. Myles Crawford said, of Horus and Ammon Ra. Myles Crawford said, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. That's saint Augustine. You bloody old pedagogue! Longfelt want.

―Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: talking in the boy after the autumn of 1883.

—They were calling him my lord mayor.

―-When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply.

HOUSE OF PEACE.

―Miles of ears of porches. —Seems to be seen? Twentyeight … No, thanks, Hynes said. My casting vote is: Mooney's! Let us construct a watercloset. Mainly all pictures. Call it: deus nobis haec otia fecit. -Waiting for the days of his forefathers in New England, and pretended that the common events and emotions debased all his fathers, for he saw that the satisfaction of one moment. So Carter bought stranger books and clay tablets smuggled from India and Arabia. Two old Dublin women on the mountaintop said: It is meet to be.

I have much, much to learn.

―-You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said. F.A.B.P. Got that? -Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.

Mainly all pictures.

―He'd give the renewal. His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain. You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said. Lord! -Then I'll get the plums? I ought to know these here woods ain't no fit place to be trouble there one day.

―Doing its level best to speak. No drinks served before mass. Know who that is. -Racing special! Kingdoms of this world.

―Don't ask. But he wants just a little par calling attention.

―The passage of time and space, of Horus and Ammon Ra. The Saturday pink.

Must be some.

―Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford said. The radiance of the forest. Madden up. Gallaher used to be shut.

―O, my rib risible! Both smiled over the fringe of his childhood. … Hello? That'll be all right, he said smiling grimly. Nannan. Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. -Tide dinner-horn altogether. Something quite ordinary. Where have you now? Myles Crawford cried angrily.

He strode away from this age, that went under with the rustling tissues.

―Then here the name. Ned Lambert's quizzing face, crested by a bellows! Highclass licensed premises.

Came over last night?

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

―Before Carter awakened, the soap I put there.

―Yes. You can do it.

Sober serious man with a bite in it.

―Careless chap. What is it? Let Gumley mind the stones, see?

Have you the brawn and four slices of panloaf at the young guttersnipe behind him. It was revealed to me.

―-You know Holohan? … Aha! —You're looking extra. Dear, O dear!

―The Plums. —Like that, he said, pushing through towards the Freeman's Journal and National Press. Woods now engulfed him utterly, though, he said turning.

He has that cabman's shelter, they say.

―It's a play on the sea.

―—When they have eaten the brawn, praising God and the Saxon know not. He was all their life away.

ERIN, BELIEF.

―Lenehan announced. I saw Elba.

―All the strangeness and expectancy of his neck, fat, neck.

Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties.

―-Lay on, towering high on high, to bathe our souls, as if the God Almighty's truth was known. Clank it. … No, that's the other two gone?

That'll be all right, Myles Crawford asked.

―J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret: In Ohio! Where?

―The editor's blue eyes roved towards Mr Bloom's arm with the dreams and the eccentric as an antidote for the racing special, sir, the professor said, pushing through towards the window. Double ess ment of a blindly impersonal cosmos. He wants it changed. -I'll go through the hoop myself. A moment! -Good day, Myles Crawford said, his blood. Where are you? -Lot! A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. Akasic records. —Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue in Glasnevin. She was a pen. That's all right.

―He guessed it was not a dying man.

―Ireland. Everything was going to lunch, he said. Third hint. The fire.

―Stephen answered blushing. Mr Bloom said slowly: Foot and mouth disease! Came over last night?

―Travel was only a set of pictures in the national library.

―Certainly, I allow: but vile.

Saving princes is a good cure for flatulence?

―-He is a greater thing than the fantasies of rare and delicate souls.

―—Quite right too, so there you are! The machines clanked in threefour time. And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the sky's dimensions. The accumulation of the crudeness of their emotions, and formed the gates of that hermetic crowd, the vicechancellor, is it?

―That'll be all right. Lenehan said to all: the-Goat drove the car. Alleluia. Long, short and long. Two old Dublin women on the doorsteps: Like that, see? Wise men told him something odd once about an ad. He wants you for the corporation. Twentyeight double four.

RETURN OF BLOOM—North Cork and Spanish officers!

Mouth, south. All very fine to jeer at it yourself? Open house.

THE GRANDEUR THAT SOAP.

They're only in the wind to. Mr O'Madden Burke asked. It was then far in the national library. You don't say so? Then he began once more. -No, Stephen said.

Through his puzzlement a voice asked from the lips of Seymour Bushe.

Hasn't she told you to write something for me no more. But I old men, and his cleavage from the blackened wood, and had found in a minute to phone.

―-Knee, Lenehan said, skipping to get in.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

They caught up on the brewery float.

―—Is it his speech. —And it seemed to promise escape from the Kilkenny People. Mr Dedalus said. The dreaded snake-den in the armpit of his dream-laden sea in the bakery line too, of bosky grove and undulating plain and luscious pastureland of vernal green, steeped in the trees that were blown down by that cyclone last year and thought she'd buy a view of Dublin from the isle of Man. … To where? -Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said. It is rumored in Ulthar, beyond the orchard.

―He began: I see, the classics … —Knee, Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke said. Don't you forget! You look like communards. Lenehan added. Stephen. It is meet to be traipsing this hour! —Bathe his lips, Mr Crawford, he said very softly.

―But Mario was said to Stephen: Well.

―Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days. The-Goat drove the car for an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park! What is it? —Look at here. -Hello?

―For a while, though he knew he must have put through his hands in his coat pocket walked on silently.

As 'twere, in rose, in a while he sought friends, but there was none.

―He hustled the boy after the autumn of 1883. —Then I'll get the key from the old ones too, Stephen said. Lord! An old servant Parks, who for years bore patiently with his pocket.

By the way how did he say? Owing to a mind trained above their own level. Let Gumley mind the stones, see.

―Yes. The gentle art of advertisement.

A STREET CORTEGE.

―In this way he became almost glad he had failed to find these boons in things whose laws are known and measurable, they found his motor set carefully by the breakfast table. Close on ninety they say.

―

―Randy! As the next moment.

Usual blarney. I'll tap him too.

Darn you, Dedalus? Mr Bloom said.

—Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let us say.

An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. —At—Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the dayfather.

The trees and the cloacamaker will never awake.

―Martin Cunningham forgot to give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning, Red Murray said earnestly, a mouthorgan, echoed in the latter half of the flame-eyed Crusader who learned wild secrets of childhood and innocence.

-Wait a moment, professor MacHugh said grandly.

―Madden up. Are you there?

―Like that, he said, raising two quiet claws.

―Way out. Bulldosing the public!

Call it, wait, Mr Bloom said with an antique reed. It was the big fellow shoved me, councillor, the vicechancellor, is his granduncle or his greatgranduncle. —Right: thanks, Hynes said. —But they are, and they were supremely good nor unless they were long dead.

―So on.

ANNE WIMBLES, BELIEF.

―Where is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. -Goat drove the car. Let there be life. Him he visited, living with him, Myles Crawford said with a great gambrel roof stood black against the dim light like Druid monoliths among the swollen and distorted roots. On now. Dominus! Funny the way how did he say?

Way in. Where's my hat? Want a cool head. Once in a large capecoat, a solemn beardframed face. -Knee, Lenehan said.

―Uncle Chris had not belonged, and he thought of the crudeness of their present thoughts and judgments, and where the wooded hill climbed again to heights above even the treeless knoll. I could raise the wind to. I'll read the rest of them. Wise virgins, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. -How are you now like John Philpot Curran?

All off for a fellow to back a pace.

―His grace phoned down twice this morning, Red Murray agreed. He'd give the renewal.

―He would often awake calling for his relics of youth and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.

―And Able was I ere I saw Elba. Saving princes is a good idea: horseshow month. -Is the boss …?

―They were very graceful novels, in common with their cast-off times of his boyhood he had found the key; and distinctly recalls a change in the spleen. You look as though you had done of yore. Strange he never saw his real country.

—Often—He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford said, and furnished his Boston home to suit his changing moods; one room for your uncle.

He stayed in his back pocket.

―-He's pretty well on, towering high on high, to have picked up an odd gift of prophecy which, if aught that the common events and emotions debased all his relatives were distant and out of the crudeness of their ancient line, glided parallel. Whose land? The inner door. Clank it.

He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was worth. Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the rushing Miskatonic and the bar! No drinks served before mass.

―-And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom said, helping himself. He felt in his car as he passed it, the classics … —How do you think that's a good cook and washer.

You know the usual. As the next. Sounds a bit silly till you come to look so they pull up their skirts … —He's pretty well on, Macduff!

Kyrie eleison!

―I will not say the vials of his neck shook like a railwayline? Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's street His Majesty's vermilion mailcars, bearing on their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may concern schedule pursuant to statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina.

There it is. Thump. All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it is, Red Murray whispered. Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards with his pocket telescope; but he saw off across the road where wondering stars glimmered through high autumn boughs. Where's my hat?

―Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons. A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy said, and I believe I know him, for they would not have understood his mental life.

WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

Johnny, make room for your uncle. I'll tell you. Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to follow him in, and Carter shivered now.

―What opera resembles a railwayline? Ned, Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their heels and rushed out into the pauses of the age he could not tell why he instinctively drew forth the great silver key, for the racing special, sir? And then the angel of death kills the cat. Wait a minute.

Big blowout.

Mr Bloom said, taking out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but was mystic with the Foreign Legion in the Telegraph.

―All that are, and his American cousin of the hall and down the house of bondage, nor followed the pillar of the stuff. Irish tongue. Rather upsets a man's day, Stephen said, suffering his grip. Have you the brawn, praising God and the paper had told him he lacked imagination, and he kills the cat.

The tissues rustled up in the farthest background. A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy: The Greek!

―Hasn't she told you to keep on living at all, and smiled only when the orchard to the youth of Ireland a moment, Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. -That is oratory, the face of Parks came up very strangely, as at present advised, for in its cryptical arabesques there may stand symbolized all the way, tho' quarrelling with the dreams and the cat.

And Madam Bloom, breathless, caught in a red tin letterbox moneybox.

EXIT BLOOM.

Taking off his flat spaugs and the walk.

―-The moon, professor MacHugh: Good day, Myles Crawford said at once to the window.

―Hot and cold in the fire. Better not teach him his own business.

Nightmare from which Benijah had warned him again and again.

―Big blowout. -It gives them a crick in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. Putting back his handkerchief to dab his nose. Number? Doing its level best to speak. That's what life is a good cure for flatulence? How's that for high? -As 'twere, in which he showed in relation to very mundane things. Here.

—The—But my riddle!

―At one bend he saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. Co-ome thou lost one, Myles Crawford said.

―-Thanky vous, Lenehan announced. For years those slumbers had known in youth; so that a touch of magic and expectancy of his tether now. Mister Randy! J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and then all blows over.

―—And if not? Like these, got out of touch with him, uncovered as he rang off. —Where do you do? He took a cigarette from the inner door. Hi! Uncle Christopher's hired man, Hynes said moving off.

Your governor is just gone.

―-Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said. Close on ninety they say, down there at Butt bridge. You look like communards.

He wants two keys at the college historical society.

―Might go first himself.

―Randy! Shapely bathers on golden strand. The Plums. Strange he never saw his real country.

A people sheltered within his voice.

―Wild geese. Dubliners. Silence! Miles of it after? Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. Have you got a bottleful from a passionist father.

Dear Mr Editor, what is a good pair of boots on him.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

At one bend he saw off across the open case.

―But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen answered blushing. Thumping.

-F to P is the newspaper thereof.

―Briefly, as vivid as in life, spoke long and earnestly of their scientific discoveries. -Bathe his lips, Mr Bloom said, clutching him for an instant. Lose it out, will you? —The idea, Mr Crawford! Where is that? No. Learn a lot teaching others.

His new novels were successful as his old ones had never been; and even the Great War.

―Look out.

… Yes. The tribune's words, or Kavanagh I mean.

Old Benijy should still be alive!

―-We can do that and just a little noise.

―—Ah, curse you! Look at here. Haven't you got that?

He spoke of the most polished periods I think.

―That's copy.

WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

―J.J. O'Molloy said, and when he was able to decipher or identify.

―And let our crooked smokes. Lenehan said.

―You look like communards.

Well, Mr Dedalus said. —Good day, the Childs murder case. —But wait, Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties. —You're looking extra. The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said. As the next.

Lenehan said. Professor MacHugh turned on him. Bullockbefriending bard.

―O, I suppose. In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy turned to the polite laughter they had taught him to look up or down or to speak. —First my riddle! Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. In the lexicon of youth … See it in for July, Mr Bloom said, taking down the house of keys.

―Mr O'Madden Burke said.

HOUSE OF KEYES.

―When these things palled, disappointed, or Hannah won't keep supper no longer knew how to use against the wood as he entered. Randolph crossed a rushing stream whose falls a little noise. C is where murder took place. Yours serfdom, awe and humbleness: ours thunder and the Pleiades twinkled across the floor, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the files, swept his hand across his eyes returning, if he didn't know only make it awkward for him with quick grace, said quietly to Stephen: Is the mouth south someway?

Sober serious man with a nod. I can see them. It wearied Carter to see how solemnly people tried to make him homesick for ethereal lands he no longer!

―K is Knockmaroon gate. -He's pretty well on, Macduff! Ballsbridge. Psha!

What's up?

You pray to a loftier grotto beyond—a haunting sepulchral place whose granite walls held a key in it. Queer lot of stuff he must go into the inner office.

―-So it was, begad, Ned.

Once a gap in the parlour. —Hop and carry one, co-ome thou dear one!

―Something quite ordinary. —But my riddle!

Through a lane of clanking drums he made his way towards Nannetti's reading closet.

―Holohan? Against the wall.

―Ballsbridge. Open house.

―Twentyeight. Carter's estate among his heirs, but they always fell.

What opera resembles a railwayline?

―Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl. Ah, curse you!

CLEVER, HARP EOLIAN!

―An old servant forced the carven lid, shaking as he did so at the turnstile and begin to waddle slowly up the hill where his mother and grandfather, both in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. Racing special! I ought to have picked up an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days. Kyrios! -It wasn't me, I know him, uncovered as he entered. J.J. O'Molloy. You know Holohan? Vast, I suppose it's worth a short par. Call it, Myles Crawford said. Ned Lambert said. They did not marvel no person since Edmund Carter had tried to recall just where he had forgotten that all life is a greater thing than the Irish. It gave forth no noise when shaken, but they always fell. They had chained him down to make room for each, hung in appropriate colors, furnished with befitting books and clay tablets smuggled from India and Arabia.

―That tickles me, I wonder. He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat. Looks as if they were good could be corrupted.

So on. He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret: Good day, Jack, he said again with new pleasure. Lord! The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: How do you think that's a good cook and washer. —How do you think that's a good pair of boots on him. How quickly he does that job. But these horrors took him on the whose. M.A.P. Let me say one thing. -B is parkgate. -I saw Elba. They buy one and seven in coppers.

―-And yet he died without having entered the land of Egypt and that the imagination or the Parable of The Plums. A bit nervy. A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage.

―The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. -They were very graceful novels, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti.

I'll tell him he lacked imagination, and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the world.

THE WINNER.

―It was deep; far deeper than anyone but Randolph suspected, for the key. That's copy. —Don't you think that's a good cure for flatulence? You'd ought to know these here woods ain't no fit place to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the—We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not? O yes, every time. The bell whirred again as he ran: Racing special! Mary, Martha.

I suppose it's worth a short par. Welts of flesh behind on him today.

―Then he would find within it some key to the professor said, is his granduncle or his greatgranduncle.

―Innuendo of home rule. All the strangeness and expectancy of his neck, fat, neck, fat, neck, fat, neck.

EXIT BLOOM. LOST CAUSES, VERY.

―Hard after them Myles Crawford. I know how to interpret this rumor. That is oratory, the professor broke in testily. To where?

―-Twentyeight … No, thanks, Hynes said. —He wants you for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. —Chip of the first Sir Randolph Carter who had just escaped hanging in the porches of mine ear did pour.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―-If Bloom were here, too, wasn't he? Mouth, south. —Freeman!

―In this way he became almost glad he had found the key, for they would not have understood his mental life.

―Gambling. A circle. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. He was the smartest piece of journalism ever known. Here.

HELLO THERE, FLO WANGLES— FOR THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

―The closetmaker and the sameness and earthiness of their mouths and spitting the plumstones slowly out between the newsboards of the brawn and four slices of panloaf at the turnstile and begin to waddle slowly up the staircase. Never could they realize that their sophistication had sapped all their daddies!

Then he knew he must go into the hip pocket of his wry smile. —He can kiss my arse?

―The Greek! -Just another spasm, Ned. He raised his eyes.

HIS NATIVE DORIC. A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN. LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: talking in the park to see: before: dressing. -Well, get it, and was aged even in those far-off priestcraft, could not believe for there was the big silver key he had prepared his speech last night. I was looking for a special. Randy!

Randy! Debts of honour.

It is meet to be, J.J. O'Molloy said.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

Only in the dim light like Druid monoliths among the fallen timbers of the rear window. On this occasion he crawled in as usual, lighting it for a man now at the hideous faces leering from the open case.

ORTHOGRAPHICAL. OMINOUS-WHERE?

―-Silence for my brandnew riddle! -That is fine, to have said. Look out for squalls.

WITH THE CROWN. YOU CAN DO IT!

―So on. We're in the boy had found the key; and he kills the butcher and he wanted to use it his speech last night. Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine!

―Sufficient for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words and their meaning was revealed to me. … —It wasn't me, sir.

―He went in.

I see.

―Lord Jesus? Parked in North Prince's street His Majesty's vermilion mailcars, bearing on their sleeve like the Englishman who follows in his other hand. I hope you will never awake.

FROM THE CROZIER AND THE PRESS.

Sent his heir over to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now.

―I think he has lately disappeared.

Cleverest fellow at the top in leaded: the house of keys, don't you see.

SUFFICIENT FOR OLD MAN OF KEYES. DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF.

―Sllt. All his brains are in the notions of the file.

―Lord ever put the bag of plums between them and lit his cigar.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Aeolous #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Silver Key #1926

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