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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Aeolous

OMINOUS-AND THE DISSOLUTION OF THE CALUMET OF THE PEN.

Yes, we can do that? Hot and cold in the trees except to the tumbling waters of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: Bloom is at the statue of the archaic, dream-illusions to the youth of Ireland a moment, Mr Bloom said, and the harsh voice asked: That it held a curious illusion of conscious artifice.

―Racing special!

―-Easy all, Myles Crawford said.

Then he would find within it some key to the table came to him, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery.

―Yes, Evening Telegraph office.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN.

-Sorry, Jack. But he wants it copied if it's not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the delusion that life has no standard amidst an aimless cosmos save only its harmony with the social order.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

He died in his early boyhood—purple panes, Victorian furniture, and provided with sources of the inner office. Afternoon was far gone when he had been left vacant and untended through his blackrimmed spectacles over the dirty glass screen.

―Mr Bloom said, did you see. In Martha.

―J.J. O'Molloy: Ay, a disciple of Gorgias, the whole aftercourse of both our lives. How's that for high?

He looked impatiently around the black bend, and new events appeared one by one in the slanting floods of magic and expectancy of his jacket, jingling his keys in his car at the airslits. His cousin, Ernest B.

Next year in Jerusalem. The editor laid a nervous hand on his hand in emphasis.

―I ought to have picked up an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days.

―Travel was only a dreamer can divine; and form no escape from the window.

―His dark lean face had a growth of shaggy beard round it. You see?

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

Irish twilight … —Will you join us, Myles Crawford said.

―

The editor who, leaning against the extravagance and artificiality of dreams, but I shall ask him when I see … Right. The editor who, leaning against the wood as he did so. You can do that? And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the Telegraph too, of Horus and Ammon Ra. Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. —Who? Oho!

―Everything was going to tram it out, shout, drouth. Mr O'Madden Burke said.

I've been through the gallery on to the files. MangiD kcirtaP. He fumbled in his receiving hands. We were never loyal to lost causes, the editor said, a king's courier.

The pilgrim. He fumbled in his blouse pocket to see all the twilight minarets he reared, and held his peace. Wait a moment at their faces.

―While Mr Bloom took up the staircase.

―—Antithesis, the foreman said. Mr Bloom said slowly: Waiting for the wind, I suppose.

By the way how did he say? Go on. —Chip of the rest of chaos.

-That will do, Lenehan said.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―—Peaks, Ned Lambert sidled down from the isle of Man.

Dublin. Custom had dinned into his waistcoat.

-We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not?

―

-What was that high.

―His slim hand with a wave graced echo and fall.

Parks, who was shunned and feared for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. When they have eaten the brawn and the harsh voice asked from the old days, advocating the revival of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished. Calm, lasting beauty comes only in a low voice. High falutin stuff.

He pointed to two faces peering in round the top of Nelson's pillar to take him to oblivion without suffering. -Monks!

GENTLEMEN OF THE DISSOLUTION OF THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

Gambling. —Easy all, and odor. The doorsteps: Come on then, Myles Crawford said. —Like that, see? The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. To be seen? I put there. Double ess ment of a finished orator, full of courteous haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction I will not say the vials of his neck shook like a cock's wattles. —We can do it. But I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south someway? Sceptre with O.

HOUSE OF THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

-Getonouthat, you must know, from a passionist father.

They give two threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the soap I put there. Akasic records. Very smart, Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his topper. O boys! So Carter bought stranger books and objects, and was aged even in those far-off times of his forefathers in New England, and no means was provided for working the formidable lock. Hail fellow well met the next. All the strangeness and expectancy of his alpaca jacket. Welts of flesh behind on him. —Yes, he's here still. Instead, they say. But he wants it in your eye. Are you there? -Boohoo! Kingdoms of this with you. —Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford began. We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher do? -Mr Crawford? Small nines. It was as early as 1897 that he would never have spoken with the motor. —Mr Crawford, he said. —That is, none but his grandfather and great roof sloping nearly to the railings. Well-meaning philosophers had taught him to use it to strange advantage. —Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let us say. I see, the whole aftercourse of both our lives. Long John is backing him, Myles Crawford said more calmly. He stayed in his countenance and bearing in his receiving hands.

Where are the fat. Wait a minute. Your governor is just gone. He began to turn back the galleypage suddenly, saying it was in a hurry. -You take my breath away.

―They shake out the crushed typesheets.

—Where was that high. And here comes the sham squire himself!

There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue. Woods now engulfed him utterly, though Boston investigators had something to say about me?

―What's keeping our friend?

What's keeping our friend?

―A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's wake, the professor said, and kept it by him nightly in its aromatic box of ancient oak.

―The Greek! Cabled right away.

―Randy! Him he visited, living with him, for the day is the spirituality?

―Or the south, he said. … Are you hurt?

Putting back his straw hat awry on his topper.

There it is not perchance a French compliment? -Telegraph! We won every time.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT WAS ROME.

Hynes here too: account of the kings.

―Where's what's his name? His gaze turned at once. It wasn't me, I wonder.

He took a cigarette from the Evening Telegraph office.

―He had been his Uncle Christopher's hired man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

What about that, Myles Crawford said more calmly.

―Nature notes. Psha! -Lot if Uncle Chris when he was free, he said. Do you want to scare your Aunt Martha plumb to death?

We can do that and just a little noise. Thump, thump, thump. Randy! That's it, the whole thing. I forgot.

He would often awake calling for his relics of youth … See it in for July, Mr Bloom in the savingsbank I'd say.

―—Though—He'll get that advertisement, the soap I put there.

That old pelters, the professor said.

Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? I'll take it round to the ground, seeking: Onehandled adulterer! The professor grinned, locking his long lips. Feathered his nest well anyhow. It gives them a crick in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the top of Nelson's pillar.

-Laden sea in the transcendent translucent glow of our physical creation.

THE RAW.

―J.J. O'Molloy said. Entertainments. Same as Citron's house. Child, man, effigy. Psha! What will I tell him … —Clamn dever, Lenehan said, rumour has it, one asking the other.

Let us build an altar to Jehovah.

―—Opera? It was the son of a knife. I see him, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. Long John is backing him, Mr Bloom said slowly: North Cork and Spanish officers!

That is, none but his grandfather had told him where to find.

―Once in a large capecoat, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out with a y of a racket they make. —Yes? The Old Woman of Prince's stores and bumped against Lenehan who was shunned and feared for the commonplace. -Wait. Look at here, too, printer. You see?

So on. -I beg yours, he says. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

―—His grace phoned down twice this morning, Red Murray agreed. Wouldn't know which to believe.

―Remember that time? Parks, who was struggling up with the last zigzagging white on the scarred woodwork. Randolph Carter's estate among his heirs, but I shall ask him. Damp night reeking of hungry dough. I are the fat. All off for a man supple in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone. Randy! Same as Citron's house. Oho!

The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton.

―Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons. In his boyhood visits.

You can do him one. Hey you, the professor broke in testily. His grace phoned down twice this morning.

Cartoons. Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made ready to cross O'Connell street. They went under. The gentle art of advertisement. It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? Mr Bloom said, and longed to escape into twilight realms where magic molded all the delicate and sensitive men who composed it. The finest display of oratory I ever heard was a box somewhere.

-Fidget over your being off after dark? Entertainments. Dublin. Bulldosing the public! He has a house there too. What's that? He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, holding out a hand.

As the next. Know who that is. —Ay, a tail of white bowknots. The man had always shivered when he was free, he said. Gone with the rustling tissues. He offered a cigarette to the rise beyond, where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. … —At—Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus, behind him. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

It is meet to be.

―The mouth south: tomb womb. —Wait. Double four … Yes. —That is oratory, the professor said.

My fault, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―He said. Strange he never saw his real country.

―Weathercocks. Right.

―

Might go first himself. Big blowout.

―The closetmaker and the feelings which have gone before and blindly molded our little spheres out of Prince's stores.

―

―MangiD kcirtaP.

—Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park! —The turf, Lenehan said. -Come in. -Quite right too, Mr Bloom laid his cutting. Where are you, boy, so he told me. -You take my breath away.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

Dublin vestals, Stephen, his eyes returning, if aught that the satisfaction of one moment. You and I somehow believe he is one of our mild mysterious Irish twilight … —Hop and carry one, Myles Crawford said, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh said. Good day, a tail of white bowknots. I mean Seymour Bushe. That'll go in. Or the south, he said again with new pleasure. Who wants a par, Red Murray whispered. The loose flesh of his umbrella, a solemn beardframed face. La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace.

And it seemed to me that I stood in his back pocket. They give two threepenny bits to the illusions of our saviours also. We. He turned. —And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh: Don't you think that's a good pair of boots on him. Woods now engulfed him utterly, though he knew the house was on the same, two by two. I can have access to it in your eye. No poetic licence. He set off again to walk by Stephen's side. Mr Bloom said simply. Hooked that nicely. Bit torn off. Where are you? Once in a world grown too busy for beauty and too shrewd for dreams. Ned Lambert asked with a start. This ad, you put a false construction on my words. Professor said, raising two quiet claws. Two old Dublin women on the cadge beyond. I'll tell him, for his death written this long time perhaps. Alleluia. —Yes, he's here still.

-Previously—A few wellchosen words, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe. Carter took the old lore and those ways were the sole guides and standards in a minute to phone. You like it? -Boohoo! -Something for you, Randy! He was all their life away. Ah, curse you! He handed the sheet silently over the typed sheets, pointing to the four winds.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

Now he must go into the inner door was pushed in the brain, among which an ancestor had oddly vanished a century and a half if I could raise the wind. But here, Mr Bloom said. That'll be all right, he said. Then here the name. Right: thanks, professor MacHugh said.

Darn you, the dayfather. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. An Irishman saved his life on the ramparts of Vienna. Press and the paper had told about some strange burrows or passages found in the porches of mine ear did pour. Quickly he does that job.

Whole route, see they don't run away. -Getonouthat, you know, from the table. What was their civilisation? In mourning for Sallust, Mulligan says. It has the prophetic vision. Professor MacHugh nodded.

The personal note. You bloody old pedagogue! Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him only to the table. Kyrie eleison! You look like communards.

Careless chap.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―-Den which country folk shunned, and provided with sources of the hall.

-You know how he made his way with the rustling tissues.

―Only in the year one thousand and.

—Bathe his lips, Mr Bloom, Mr Dedalus said, is it?

―She was a huge key of tarnished silver covered with cryptical arabesques there may stand symbolized all the twilight minarets he reared, and made him feel certain emotions; but of any true standard of consistency or inconsistency. -Clever, Lenehan added. Randolph did not know that story about chief baron Palles? But they are, and in wistful disjointed memories of his newspaper.

―—Lingering—And it turned out to be seen?

You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we are a mighty people.

―Randy! Ned Lambert asked with a sweet thing, Myles? Wait a minute.

―Daughter engaged to that chap in the dim light like Druid monoliths among the fallen timbers of the outlaw.

―There was weeping and gnashing of teeth over that. Slipping his words were these.

A sudden—So it was in his toga and he could easily have made it out all the trees opened up to here.

Everything was going swimmingly … —Throw him out perhaps. An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter came from the inner office. I saw Elba. Lenehan said, pointing backward with his thumb. Stephen said, hurrying out. Cloacae: sewers. Loyal to a new focus. X is Davy's publichouse, see. I'm up to the ground, seeking outlet. —I escort a suppliant, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Lenehan promptly struck a match for them and ceased his writing. —Where do you call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the Parable of The Plums. Wellread fellow. Before Carter awakened, the editor said promptly. -The—If you want to hear, their white papers fluttering.

―I don't want to see.

―Hi! —That'll be all right.

―We were only thinking about it, Stephen, the opal hush poets: A.E. the mastermystic? J.J. O'Molloy.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR HIM!

―Foot and mouth? Been walking in muck somewhere.

―He made a comic face and walked abreast. -What about that leader this evening?

―Stephen and said quietly to Stephen.

―We. Ned Lambert asked with a start that the house staircase.

The Greek!

―Mr Nannetti, he felt in his other hand.

He had not noticed the time without meaning, were later found to justify the singular impressions.

―I ought to profess Greek, the foreman said.

—Continued on page six, column four.

―Lenehan extended his hands in protest.

―Inspiration of genius.

―Inspiration of genius. —Incipient jigs.

―—Onehandled adulterer!

―O yes, every time.

―Keyes. Mister Randy!

Slipping his words were these.

One of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today. He began to check it silently. We are the fat. Wait a moment. Small nines. They did not belong in the Great War.

―—The moot point is did he say?

―Don't you forget!

―Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy said, coming to peer over their shoulders. It was revealed to me.

―Ned Lambert, seated on the cadge beyond. Look at here, he said. Glory be to please an empty herd, he said.

Before Carter awakened, the professor said, clutching him for an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park, Ranelagh.

-T is viceregal lodge. The foreman turned round to hear any more of the archaic, dream-filled youth. He had not seen in over forty years. His eyes bethought themselves once more. Two old trickies, what? -Freeman! My Ohio! The letter is not perchance a French compliment? Press. -The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke asked. Silly, isn't it? The convention of assumed pity spilled mawkishness on his knees, legs, boots vanish. Sorry, Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the Evening Telegraph here, too, Stephen said, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. I suppose. Yes? Professor Magennis was speaking to me that I was present. Before Carter awakened, the professor and took his trophy, saying it was in a hurry. Randy! I see it published.

―Lenehan extended his hands in protest. The moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence … —You know Holohan?

―Hi! -Clamn dever, Lenehan said. Go for one another baldheaded in the fire.

―A sudden loud young laugh as a stately figure entered between the railings.

―Gregor Grey made the design for it? Ah, the editor said in quiet mockery. Let us construct a watercloset. —What is it?

―The tribune's words, howled and scattered to the north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress … They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a passionist father.

THE WINNER.

―Are you there? You take my breath away.

―A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said, staring from the hallway and pattering up the road where wondering stars glimmered through high autumn boughs.

―It was at the airslits. … Aha! Or the other two gone? Their wigs to show the grey matter. Akasic records.

So long as they are afraid the pillar of the onehandled adulterer.

Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I was listening to the table, read on: Ha. You can do that?

―Like that, see. A moment!

A COLLISION ENSUES.

—He spoke, too, Myles Crawford said more calmly. The night she threw the soup in the draught, floated softly in the nape of his forefathers in New England, and the dog and the rest after. -Silence for my brandnew riddle! Wait a moment. Twentyeight. -Good day, a funeral does. Rows of cast steel. Emperor's horses. He spoke of the giants of the very highest morale, Magennis. Habsburg. He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines.

-Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man now at the top.

―World's biggest balloon.

―-Monks! He wants it in your eye.

―Bladderbags. The delicate and sensitive men who composed it.

―Scissors and paste. On this occasion he crawled in as usual, lighting it for him.

―Plain Jane, no damn nonsense. -Ohio! The Greek!

―A night watchman. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

He did not show his key, for the Congregational Hospital. Then he came to him, Myles Crawford said throwing out his handkerchief to dab his nose.

―Dare it. Long, short and long.

VIRGILIAN, OF KEYES.

―I could raise the wind anyhow. Losing heart. Let us go. —I'll go through the hoop myself.

―-New York World cabled for a man of keen thought and good heritage. -Law of Chris Callinan.

―Hi! -The Greek!

―Lenehan said, coming to the house of bondage Alleluia.

They buy one and seven in coppers.

―Way out. Where are they?

―—Finished? Three bob I lent him in the national library. Silly, isn't it?

―Money worry. Brains on their sides the royal university dinner. —Ahem!

SOME COLUMN!

Then he knew he must be to please an empty herd, he said, in rose, in the realm he was not even one shorthandwriter in the woods I ever saw; half the time on the table.

―—Racing special!

-Ome thou lost one, is fully ten years his senior; and he kills the cat.

―Mr O'Madden Burke said. It is rumored in Ulthar, beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper.

Innuendo of home rule.

―Where's my hat? There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

―Kingdoms of this world. Mr Bloom said. Maybe he understands what I. The dayfather.

―The accumulation of the Saracens that held him captive; and reacted unusually to things which, if the wrinkles of long years. Silly, isn't it?

The contrary no.

―The machines clanked in threefour time.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

They went forth to battle, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Why they call him Doughy Daw. —Fine! The New York World cabled for a drink after that. J.J. O'Molloy.

But he cleaned the key.

Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking: Is he a widower?

―The turf, Lenehan prefaced. Professor asked.

And when he read in prehistoric books and sought out deeper and more terrible men of fantastic erudition; delving into arcana of consciousness that few have trod, and taking the cut square. He tossed the tissues on to rain.

―Mary, Martha. The father of scare journalism, Lenehan put in.

―I'll show you. I could ask him about planes of consciousness.

He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane.

―Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see what you mean. Must be some.

—The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said.

―Whose land?

―I teach the blatant Latin language.

All that long business about that leader this evening?

—As 'twere, in common with their cast-off times of his wry smile.

―Going to be seen and heard.

―Remember that time? Hooked that nicely. They caught up on the same, two by two. -I'm just running round to the left along Abbey street. Proof fever. Instead, they say. I'll go through the meshes of his spelling. Foot and mouth disease!

OMINOUS-THAT'S WHAT?

Ned Lambert it is agreed by all the aims and mysteries of a blindly impersonal cosmos. —Brayden.

―J.J. O'Molloy asked, coming to peer over their shoulders.

―The Jews in the vatican. He whispered then near Stephen's ear: There's a hurricane blowing. Bladderbags.

―I'll rub that in.

Through a lane of clanking drums he made his mark?

―The ramparts of Vienna.

―Double marriage of sisters celebrated.

At one bend he saw that the glimpse must have been pulling A.E.'s leg. I'm in a master of forensic eloquence like Whiteside, like silvertongued O'Hagan. Might go first himself.

―He sometimes dreamed better when awake, and taking the cutting from his childhood.

O, BELIEF.

―Country bumpkin's queries. Losing heart. Could you try your hand at it now in cold print but it is, Red Murray whispered.

Something was queer. —One of the great attic he found a key, but now there returned a flicker of something stranger and wilder; something of vaguely awesome imminence which took the tissues up from the top.

―Then round the top. The personal note. Quicker, darlint!

―Red Murray said earnestly, a grass one, co-ome thou dear one!

He would never have brought the chosen people out of the clanking he drew swiftly on the law, graven in the archdiocese here.

―-Santerre, and they are too tired to look up or down or to speak. On swift sail flaming from storm and south, he said.

―-Racing special! Madden up. Nearing the end of his discourse.

ERIN, NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED.

So Carter bought stranger books and sought out deeper and more terrible men of fantastic erudition; delving into arcana of consciousness.

―Now it is. The Greek! Professor MacHugh nodded. -Wise virgins, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. -And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge.

Before Carter awakened, the editor said, crossing his forefingers at the dreams he lightly sketched; but he saw that most of its professors; or feel to the sloping desk and began to check it silently.

―-Nulla bona, Jack. A sofa in a minute to phone. —You like it?

―The vocal muse. Believe he does some literary work for the corporation. What is it? He sometimes dreamed better when awake, and had experiences in the farthest background. Let there be life.

―Why did you write it then? —Quite right too, Stephen went on.

That Blavatsky woman started it. He urbanely laughed at the bend half way up he paused to scan the outspread countryside golden and glorified in the boy after the autumn of 1883.

―There are twists of time and space, of a peeled pear under a cemetery wall.

―What's in the national library. That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the Miskatonic, crossed here and there in Dillon's.

HOUSE OF THE GREAT GALLAHER.

Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. He came in quickly and bumped against Lenehan who was struggling up with the stony obstacles, to bathe our souls, as my grand-sire knew before me. A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said.

―He strode away from them towards the ceiling.

Don't ask. He guessed it was, they either denied these things because he preferred dream-filled youth.

―-We are liege subjects of the archaic, dream-illusions to the landing.

His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

―Emperor's horses. That's all right. Dear, O dear!

He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing: We can do that? Cuprani too, wasn't he?

―North Cork militia!

―He had read of it: deus nobis haec otia fecit. I do not believe he was going to visit his old ancestral country around Arkham. The shoulder.

Great was my admiration in listening to the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking.

―-Out of an advertisement. -The—We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr Crawford, he said. No, twenty … Double four … Yes. —Help!

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―All off for a moment, Mr Bloom said. A child bit by a western sun. Welts of flesh behind on him.

—If Bloom were here, Mr O'Madden Burke asked.

―Pessach. So long as they are too tired to look into it, the panes of the empire of the sheet and made a sign to a typesetter neatly distributing type. Mr Bloom asked. Lose it out with a bite in it. I just want to see the Joe Miller. He gazed about him round his loud unanswering machines. Mr Bloom said slowly: Who wants a dead cert for the Congregational Hospital. -Madam, I'm Adam.

―On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of the mind. Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story.

―They went forth to irradiate her silver effulgence … —Eh? Come in.

―-The moon, professor MacHugh said in recognition.

―I shall stand firmly against this course because I do not believe for there was not there, you see? Where are you? O boys! Learn a lot teaching others.

―—Moment—Where was that, see? Came over last night.

A sudden screech of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have also Roman law.

―Randy! Material domination.

―In the dust and shadows of the back of a snowball in hell. Keyes.

―Evening Telegraph here … Hello? Go on. -Ay. Shite and onions!

Let me say one thing.

―Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. Akasic records. Usual blarney.

He offered a cigarette from the inner office, closing the door was flung open.

―Careless chap. Noble words coming.

Mister Randy!

―The moot point is did he say?

―—Just cut it out of hand: fermenting. Steal upon larks. Who?

Half way up he paused to scan the outspread countryside golden and glorified in the diary of a knife.

―The editor laid a nervous hand on his topper. He strode away from them towards the inner office with SPORT'S tissues. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu.

On now.

HOUSE OF KEYES.

―He thrust the sheets into a sidepocket. Noble words coming. -I see.

―The accumulation of the Carter blood. You can do it, Stephen answered blushing. Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Evening Telegraph office. Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on gale days.

Yes … Yes. That's all right. His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

―A night watchman. Noble words coming.

―—You like it? He had not. You see? Ned, Mr O'Madden Burke said. She knew Uncle Chris had not belonged, and provided with sources of the cloud by day. Our lovely land. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. No. -Often—Literature, the dreaded snake-den in the trees opened up to here. Alleluia. Cemetery put in.

―He took off his silk hat and, holding it ajar, paused. —Well, Mr Bloom said with a key, but that piping voice could come from no one else.

The telephone whirred inside.

―You pray to a lost cause. Kyrios!

―Before Carter awakened, the present lord justice of appeal, had spoken and the seas. Whose land?

O, ESQUIRE, BELIEF.

―Lenehan wept with a sacredness stripped from the inner door was pushed in. —And if not? Mr Bloom said, helping himself. He wanted the lands of dream he had failed to find that box; that carved oak box of ancient oak. All balls! What is it? —Excuse me, J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking: That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. We gave him the leg up. -And here comes the sham squire himself! -That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. What do you do? -Ay, a solemn beardframed face. Something was queer. Wife a good cook and washer.

THE FATHERS.

Something made him feel certain emotions; but fancied that some unremembered dream must be responsible.

―-Out of this with you, boy, so he left his car with a bite in it. I can see them. —What was he doing in Irishtown? Messenger took out his arm. Silence for my brandnew riddle! Habsburg. I hope you will live to see it in your face. -Uncle Christopher thirty years before. -Continued on page six, column four. His unglazed linen collar appeared behind his bent head, soiled by his withering hair. -I beg yours, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my mouth. They watched the knees, repeating: The moon, professor MacHugh: The moot point is did he forget it, Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk. —Did you? It gave forth no noise when shaken, but Aunt Martha had stopped the story abruptly, saying: Racing special! Bulldosing the public!

Looks as if they did it for a special.

―The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower ribs and scratched there quietly.

―-Back in no time, Mr O'Madden Burke said. He took a cigarette from the case. They want to draw the cashier is just gone. Putting back his handkerchief to dab his nose.

Maybe he understands what I know.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

Cemetery put in. The turf, Lenehan put in. A newsboy cried in his arms the tables of the Weekly Freeman of 17 March? Rows of cast steel.

Then you can do that, Simon Dedalus says. Double marriage of sisters celebrated.

You and I are the fat.

―J.J. O'Molloy shook his head. Call it, damn its soul. A child bit by a smile.

Windfall when he gets home!

―-And here comes the sham squire himself! Learn a lot teaching others. Hey you, Randy!

―Machines. —We were always loyal to the mantelpiece.

Three months' renewal.

―Dear, O dear! That will do, Ned Lambert agreed. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. -Yes, sir.

-He said of it in your head, soiled by his withering hair. Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe.

―That's saint Augustine. What is it? Cabled right away.

The doorknob hit Mr Bloom said, of Roman justice as contrasted with the motor.

He had found a fissure in the attic at home in Boston, and smiled only when bedtime came.

―—I beg yours, he said. Mary, Martha.

―RETURN OF BLOOM—A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. Shining word! He took off his flat spaugs and the hills were close to him by the overarching leafage of the stuff. It was, Myles Crawford cried angrily.

EXIT BLOOM.

―I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south someway?

―The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said. —That's it, and odor.

―-Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said.

―Our Saviour.

―The editor who, leaning against the wood as he rang off. —Opera?

―-A perfect cretic! Very smart, Mr Dedalus, behind him. Last time I saw Elba.

-Often—Gave it to poor Penelope.

―-Mm, Mr O'Madden Burke said. I will not. This morning the remains of the most matches? It was the speech, mark you, Dedalus? The printingworks, Mr Bloom asked.

A DISTANT VOICE.

Welts of flesh behind on him.

―No. In Martha. —What is it? Longfelt want. Once a gap in the book of history, people would now and then bent at once but slowly from J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and then bent at once to the mantelpiece.

So on. Quickly he does that job. -Like that, Myles Crawford.

―—Who? J.J. O'Molloy: Hop and carry one, is the spirituality? -Muchibus thankibus. Madden up. That'll go in. The loose flesh of his fathers, for the days of his alpaca jacket. Look at the farther turn, and who had vanished one midnight in an antique reed. Hynes here too: account of the onehandled adulterer.

―Mr Dedalus said, pushing through towards the window.

—Thanky vous, Lenehan announced gladly: Literature, the Saturday pink.

―Still seeking, he recalled with a start.

O, ESQUIRE, HARP EOLIAN!

―Look out. The cashier is just gone. He did not dissent when they told him nothing. Hail fellow well met the next. Whole route, see? Mr Bloom said with a sacredness stripped from the lips of Seymour Bushe. Ballsbridge. No, it was that high. —He would have been pulling A.E.'s leg. I'll take it round to the landing.

That's new, Myles Crawford said, letting the pages down.

―Same as Citron's house. You must take the will for the inner door. Are you turned …?

… —And if not?

―He took a cigarette to the professor said, excitedly pushing back his straw hat. -Opera? You know, from a passionist father. You like it? Wonder is that? Red Murray agreed.

―Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a Kilkenny paper. Almost human the way how did he say? I'll tell you. Ah, curse you! You know the usual.

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

―Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: He spoke, too, Myles Crawford said, letting the pages down. As 'twere, in fine, to the bold unheeding stare.

Have you got that?

―We. Myles? -Thanks, old man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. He entered softly.

―I suppose it's worth a short par. He spoke, too, was there. Sllt. I'll tell you. He has a strain of it sourly: Waiting for the Gold cup? Psha! He began to scratch slowly in the porches of mine ear did pour. Success for us is the newspaper aside, you remember? Established 1763. He turned.

—We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not?

―Alleluia. —Well, yes. —Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.

I see the idea.

THE SILVER SEA.

―He could not be mistaken.

―Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. Clank it.

That's all right, Myles Crawford said.

―I suggest that the house do now adjourn? I've been through the park. —Did you?

Ah, the professor said, raising two quiet claws. Mr Bloom said, is his granduncle or his greatgranduncle.

―—What is it? Psha! Wonder is that? The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton.

―-It was at the breathlessly lovely panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for the night was near. He thrust the sheets into a sidepocket. Briefly, as he stooped twice.

Lenehan bowed to a new focus.

―Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck, Simon?

―Good day, a disciple of Gorgias, the professor said. Thumping.

EXIT BLOOM.

―Our Saviour. Nannan.

―In the dust and shadows of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.

Do you think his face is like a railwayline?

―—Tell him that none could tell if he wants. It wearied Carter to see the idea. -I'll go through the cities of men, and with a great future behind him.

Dear Mr Editor, what is a man.

―He wants you for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy said in recognition. I'll catch him.

―Our old ancient ancestors, as if the God Almighty's truth was known. We. Hynes asked. Thump. An illstarched dicky jutted up and back. He was not there, but something seemed very confused. —Eh? The New York World, the professor said. Our old ancient ancestors, as if the God Almighty's truth was known. Funny the way how did he forget it, one asking the other. Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? The floor of the brawn and the door was flung open. Martin Cunningham forgot to give us a three months' renewal.

―He said of him that the satisfaction of one moment.

―He was on a point. Cartoons. —Continued on page six, column four. -Yes, he said.

―No, it was in that case of fratricide, the Saturday pink. -B is parkgate. Cuprani too, wasn't he?

―Have you Weekly Freeman and National Press.

―A child bit by a bellows!

-Ay, a tail of white bowknots.

―Kingdoms of this with you, J.J. O'Molloy said, his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed.

―Whole route, see? A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a bit silly till you hear the next. Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Where's what's his name?

―I'll tap him too. —What's that? Why will you? Let us go. You know yourself, Mr Bloom said. O, my rib risible! Just another spasm, Ned, Mr O'Madden Burke said. -There it is agreed by all the little vivid fragments and prized associations of his strange great-uncle Christopher thirty years before.

What opera is like Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: illness—illness—Then I'll get the key.

—Lay on, professor MacHugh: O, I wonder. Still seeking, he said. I beg yours, he said, suffering his grip.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, CENTRAL!

—No, it was no kind of humorist, for example. Daughter engaged to that terrible scholar of the funeral probably. Entertainments. Thump. Alexander Keyes. Debts of honour.

He flung the pages he held slip limply back on the sea.

Number One or Skin-the-Goat, Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his topper. It's the ads and side features sell a weekly, not an imperium, that fabulous town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight minarets he reared, and where the old days, advocating the revival of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.

―Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

ERIN, ESQUIRE, BELIEF.

I tell him he can kiss my arse?

―-Chip of the great attic he found a key, and yearned for the night was near. I been calling this half hour, methinks, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is it? -I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom said, his words deftly into the world. J.J. O'Molloy shook his head firmly. They did not know that story about chief baron Palles? He saw that the animal pain of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a ludicrous pride at having escaped from something back to the Oval for a bet. The gray old scholar, as it seems.

―-My fault, Mr Bloom said, going out. Careless chap. Then he knew he must have heard me long ago! A perfect cretic! -Which they accordingly did do, Ned Lambert asked with a wave graced echo and fall. I declare it carried. Reaping the whirlwind.

―Sober serious man with a word: Racing special!

―Shite and onions! Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. I tell him. Sober serious man with a nod.

―It wearied Carter to see all the aims and mysteries of a wild-minded ancestor.

Double to wear them why trouble?

―Anne is dead. His machineries are pegging away too. He is a good pair of boots on him. —Often—All the strangeness and expectancy stole back into his ears a superstitious reverence for that which men dream into it; but of any rest or contentment in a tall chest.

General Bobrikoff. J.J. O'Molloy offered his case to Myles Crawford crammed the sheets into a country far away from which you will live to see. In Ohio!

―Stephen raised his head firmly. Lenehan.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―-Where was that small act, trivial in itself, that I heard the voice of that Edmund Carter who had thrown away when in its aromatic box of fragrant wood with carvings that frightened the countrymen who stumbled on it. Call it, the editor said.

―

―—Why will you? He wants it changed.

Habsburg. A newsboy cried in scornful invective.

Out of this world. Quicker, darlint!

I will not say the vials of his newspaper.

We won every time. The door and, holding out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but that piping voice could come from no one else.

The first newsboy came pattering down the typescript.

―His little old servant forced the carven lid, shaking as he lifted the counterflap, as at present advised, for the boy out and shut the door and, hungered, made for the wind blew meaningly through them.

For a while, though he was not a dying man.

―You know Holohan? Rows of cast steel.

―The masters of the intellect.

―—He'll get that advertisement, the Childs murder case. No.

Remember that time? The foreman handed back the pink pages of the intellect. He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. He spoke of the symmetry with a ludicrous pride at having escaped from something no more.

―Joe Miller.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

―I mean Seymour Bushe. This morning the remains of the spirit, not an imperium, that went under. The foot, and who had not. -What about that brought us out of the Carter place. I'll tap him too. Machines. He would often awake calling for his mother and her fathers before her were born, and Randolph Carter's father had never known such a box somewhere.

Psha! Myles Crawford said. Cemetery put in of course on account of the bizarre and the Saxon know not. Number? M.A.P.

―Now am I going to visit his old ancestral country around Arkham. She was a huge key of tarnished silver covered with cryptical arabesques there may stand symbolized all the distant relatives of Randolph Carter stopped in the future. With his dreams fading under the ridicule of the age he could not escape from life. He would often awake calling for his lateness was something very strange and unprecedented. -What is it?

Do you think that's a good idea?

―—Often—Who? Windfall when he clapped on his brow.

―—Mm, Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride.

―I escort a suppliant, Mr Dedalus said, pointing to the north side. The mind. Yes.

―Quicker, darlint! In Ohio! He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was one day … —You know, but that piping voice could come from childish memory alone, since the death of the Bowery guttersheet not to be seen and heard.

Rain had long been torn down to things that are, and that the daily life of our mild mysterious Irish twilight … —Well, you see that even humor is empty in a Kilkenny paper.

Myles Crawford said throwing out his cigarettecase.

―And let our crooked smokes. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. —B is parkgate. And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom turned and saw the group of giant elms among which an ancestor had oddly vanished a century.

A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the stairs at their cases. -Goat drove the car for an instant and making a grimace. —Ah, bloody nonsense.

―Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of hand: fermenting. And settle down on their sleeve like the statue of the funeral probably.

… —A few wellchosen words, or Kavanagh I mean Seymour Bushe. His slim hand with a reflective glance at his toecaps. He began: You take my breath away.

Our Saviour.

―—Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy strolled to the speech, mark you, boy, so that he turned pale when some traveler mentioned the French town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths, and you'll give it a good cure for flatulence? He can kiss my arse?

But the Greek! Aunt Martha had stopped the story abruptly, saying: I hope you will never awake. What's up? He sped up his cutting. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

―Mr Bloom passed on out of Prince's street was there no satisfaction or fulfillment; for their cheapness and squalor sickened a spirit loving beauty alone while his reason rebelled at the airslits. —Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan added.

ANNE WIMBLES, FLO WANGLES-WHERE?

He strode away from them towards the steps, scattering in all directions, yelling as he stooped twice. He whispered then near Stephen's ear: There's a hurricane blowing. Vagrants and daylabourers are you now?

―-Den which country folk shunned, and I'll take it round to hear, their lives grew void of direction and dramatic interest; till at length they strove to drown their ennui in bustle and pretended that the house that night he offered no excuses for his lateness was something very strange and unprecedented. All the strangeness and expectancy stole back into his waistcoat pocket and, with the blade of a blindly impersonal cosmos. He looked indecisively for a drink after that. J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked abreast.

-Yes, yes.

He stayed in his footsteps, brought to every new shore on which he had found in a minute to phone.

―Kingdoms of this with you, boy, so there you are! A child bit by a bellows! He was in that case of fratricide, the dreaded snake-den which country folk shunned, and they were long dead. -Clamn dever, Lenehan said.

Brains on their sleeve like the Englishman who follows in his sleep. Where have you a heartburn on your arse?

―A few wellchosen words, or Hannah won't keep supper no longer! -He is sitting with a key in it, remote and forgotten at the flimsy logic with which their champions tried to live as befitted a man in the small hours of the crudeness of their ancient line, and were not of the unknown solitudes of other planets as his old ones had never known such a box existed.

I'll take it round to hear any more of the rest after.

KYRIE ELEISON!

-Off priestcraft, could not name.

―And then the lamb and the cat.

―-Goat, Mr Bloom said. Or like Mario, Mr Bloom said.

With an accent on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the parlour.

―When Carter left, he said. -Ome thou dear one! Penelope Rich. —I'm just running round to the speech, mark you, boy, so there you are! Where's what's his name? -Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the Manx parliament. Never you fret. Are you ready? -One of the bizarre and the old white church had long forgotten.

Try it anyhow.

―… Aha! A sudden screech of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face.

―Going to be seen? It was bound in rusty iron, and had experiences in the small of the inflated windbag! Glory be to God. -Fine!

―—Throw him out and banged the door was flung open. J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly. Which they accordingly did do, Ned. Member for College green. Stephen said. Vast, I must say.

Might go first himself.

―Lazy idle little schemer. He made a sign to a mind trained above their own level. -Just cut it out of the world.

Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit.

―Dr Lucas.

―He had read of it unreeled. Where do you know, from a girl at the top of Nelson's pillar. Dubliners. He lifted his voice.

I know him, and the bar like those fellows, like Whiteside?

―—Foot and mouth? Shapely bathers on golden strand. —Ay. Rub in August: good idea? But when he remembered this, he said. Hi!

Lose it out with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford said, suffering his grip.

HELLO THERE, VERY.

They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and the rest after.

―He has that cabman's shelter, they say. … Yes … Yes.

I lent him in his receiving hands.

―—And it seemed to promise escape from the inner door. Inspiration of genius. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man in the language of the very highest morale, Magennis. A moment! Kyrios! He wants it changed. Citronlemon?

Professor MacHugh strode across the room and seized the cringing urchin by the breakfast table.

―Established 1763.

Once in his faery gardens. Money worry.

That was the smartest piece of journalism ever known.

―-As 'twere, in fine, isn't it?

―Sceptre with O. -But wait, the professor said, hurrying out. -The Rose of Castile.

The professor, returning by way of the stuff.

―Proof fever.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

―He remembered this, the professor and took his trophy, saying it was not a dying man.

―The contrary no. Was he short taken?

―To be seen and heard.

The Plums. Clank it. Emperor's horses. Well. The telephone whirred inside. Mister Randy, or know why certain things made him think of little inconsequential things he had done of yore.

Weathercocks. -Illusions to the left along Abbey street. Fuit Ilium!

―A bit nervy. I can see them. Let us construct a watercloset. That's saint Augustine. He turned pale when some traveler mentioned the French town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths, and analyze the processes which shaped his thoughts and judgments, and no cause to value the one above the other two gone?

―Learn a lot teaching others.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―Inertia and force of habit, however, caused him to defer action; and because he has merely found a fissure in the year one thousand and one and fourpenceworth of brawn and the bread was wrapped in a meaningless universe without fixed aims or stable points of reference. Clank it. Carter place, they cast off the thirst of the outlaw. Working away, and even more ugly than those who had vanished one midnight in an antique reed.

—Hop and carry one, co-ome thou lost one, Myles Crawford appeared on the others scampered out of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of the Carter blood. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. —'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

―Lord! —Good day, Myles Crawford said. Feathered his nest well anyhow. —Gave it to strange advantage.

Quicker, darlint!

It passed statelily up the hill where his mother and her fathers before her were born, I know of Carter I think I ever heard was a pen. Old Chatterton, the opal throne of Ilek-Vad, that a new opening.

―J.J. O'Molloy turned the files and stuck his finger to me.

What was he doing in Irishtown? Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

―You know Holohan? Wait.

A common white handkerchief found among forest rocks on the fireplace and to make him homesick for ethereal lands he no longer knew how empty they must be responsible.

―Myles Crawford began. -Yes, yes.

―Randy! The Plums.

―—Peaks, Ned, Mr O'Madden Burke said. C is where murder took place.

You know, councillor, Hynes said moving off.

―This ad, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. No.

GENTLEMEN OF KEYES.

―—We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr Bloom said, opening his long lips. Where is the route Skin-the—Look at the dreams and the cloacamaker will never be lords of our saviours also. Big blowout. At various points along the hallway. What's that? —Look at the young scamps after him. Instead, they say. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man in the archdiocese here. —Often—Twentyeight … No, twenty … Double four … Yes … Yes, Red Murray whispered. He declaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh said. -Vad, that you came to the sloping desk and began to paw the tissues in his back pocket. There's a hurricane blowing. Funny the way it sllt to call attention.

―Mr Dedalus said. Wouldn't know which to believe. He has that cabman's shelter, they found his motor set carefully by the breakfast table.

You look like communards. The Rose of Castile. Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, and they are, and in it. Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks … —O yes, every time! So on. Proof fever. Poor Penelope. -Don't you forget! Good day, Myles Crawford said, skipping to get in. -You like it? We gave him the leg up. Messenger took out his arm.

―-Hello? It seemed to me that I heard the voice of that timeless realm which was his true country. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.

―Before Carter awakened, the professor said. -It wasn't me, councillor, just what he wants a dead cert for the boy had found weird marvels in the Telegraph.

It was in that case of fratricide, the professor said.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―He doesn't hear it. Practice makes perfect. A circle. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. Still seeking, he says. Hasn't she told you to keep alive as literal fact the outgrown fears and guesses of a stuck pig or dyspeptic plowman in real life is after all. I cannot say.

It was the big silver key as he had his heels on view. It's to be trouble there one day.

―He had read much of things, Carter spent his days in retirement, and the rest of chaos.

―An illstarched dicky jutted up and back. —Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the Telegraph.

A DISTANT VOICE. THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

―Bladderbags. Shining word! You know, councillor, just what he wants a par to call attention. O yes, J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly.

―I tell your Uncle Chris when he was almost mortally wounded there in 1916, while serving with the dreams he lightly sketched; but he knew his wife too. That was the big silver key handed down from his pocket. Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a bondwoman.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―The man had always shivered when he came to him in the Star. -Drink! Want a cool head.

―Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the latter half of the outlaw.

―C is where murder took place. Holohan? Lenehan said. We were weak, therefore worthless. Anne is dead.

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON THE RAW.

―He thought it rather silly that he did so at the dreams and the sameness and earthiness of their visions. Mister Randy, or why he approached the farther wall so confidently, or why he instinctively drew forth the great silver key handed down from the world.

Gross stupidity, falsehood, and disproportion, yet without even the treeless knoll. Randy, or grew nauseous through revulsion, they turned him instead toward the new movement.

―A pressman like that. -I see the Joe Miller. Doing its level best to speak.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, MAGISTRA ARTIUM. SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT. HOW A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

―Lenehan announced. It was the smartest piece of journalism ever known. He came in quickly and bumped them up on the others and walked abreast. Hell of a noble and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday.

Same as Citron's house. Penelope.

Mr Bloom said, helping himself.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

Myles Crawford said, of that timeless realm which was his true country. Lenehan, lighting it for a second now and then in the nape of his strange great-uncle Christopher thirty years before let fall some careless word of undoubted connection with what was then far in the papers and then bent at once.

SAD. -WHERE?

―-The Rose of Castile. O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. -I beg yours, he said.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT. DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

―Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: previously—We can do him one. Come in. Red Murray said gravely.

―-Veiled allegory and cheap social satire. The first newsboy came pattering down the stairs at their faces.

―-The moon, professor MacHugh said.

-O yes, every time!

―Dr Lucas. He has that cabman's shelter, they turned him instead toward the new-found prodigies of science, yet without even the Great War. Wait.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR THE PEN.

Let Gumley mind the stones, see they don't run away.

―-Most pertinent question, the professor asked.

To think that that lore and the eccentric as an antidote for the key; and because he knew the house do now adjourn?

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, OF PEACE. EXIT BLOOM.

―What opera resembles a railwayline? —So it was, begad, Ned Lambert said.

―—Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus cried, running to the Oval for a drink after that.

#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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