The
summer
evening
had begun
to
fold
the
world
in
its
mysterious
embrace.
Far
away
in
the west the
sun
was
setting
and
the
last
glow
of
all
too
fleeting
day
lingered lovingly
on
sea
and
strand,
on
the
proud
promontory
of
dear
old
Howth guarding
as
ever
the waters
of
the bay,
on
the weedgrown rocks
along
Sandymount
shore
and,
last
but not least,
on
the
quiet
church whence there streamed
forth
at
times
upon
the
stillness
the voice
of
prayer
to
her
who
is
in
her
pure
radiance
a
beacon
ever
to
the stormtossed
heart
of
man, Mary, star
of
the sea. The
three
girl
friends
were
seated
on
the rocks, enjoying the
evening
scene
and
the air
which
was
fresh
but not
too
chilly.
Many
a
time
and
oft
were
they
wont
to
come
there
to
that
favourite
nook
to
have
a
cosy chat
beside
the sparkling waves
and
discuss
matters feminine,
Cissy
Caffrey
and
Edy Boardman
with
the
baby
in
the pushcar
and
Tommy
and
Jacky Caffrey,
two
little
curlyheaded boys, dressed
in
sailor
suits
with
caps
to
match
and
the
name
H.M.S. Belleisle printed
on
both.
For
Tommy
and
Jacky Caffrey
were
twins,
scarce
four years
old
and
very
noisy
and
spoiled twins sometimes but
for
all
that
darling
little
fellows
with
bright
merry
faces
and
endearing ways
about
them.
They
were
dabbling
in
the sand
with
their
spades
and
buckets, building castles
as
children do,
or
playing
with
their
big
coloured ball,
happy
as
the
day
was
long.
And
Edy Boardman
was
rocking the
chubby
baby
to
and
fro
in
the pushcar
while
that
young
gentleman
fairly
chuckled
with
delight.
He
was
but
eleven
months
and
nine
days
old
and, though
still
a
tiny toddler,
was
just
beginning
to
lisp
his
first babyish words.
Cissy
Caffrey bent
over
to
him
to
tease
his
fat
little
plucks
and
the
dainty
dimple
in
his
chin. —Now, baby,
Cissy
Caffrey said.
Say
out
big, big. I
want
a
drink
of
water.
And
baby
prattled
after
her: —A jink
a
jink
a
jawbo.
Cissy
Caffrey cuddled the
wee
chap
for
she
was
awfully
fond
of
children,
so
patient
with
little
sufferers
and
Tommy Caffrey
could
never
be
got
to
take
his
castor
oil
unless
it
was
Cissy
Caffrey
that
held
his
nose
and
promised
him
the scatty heel
of
the
loaf
or
brown bread
with
golden
syrup
on.
What
a
persuasive
power
that
girl
had! But
to
be
sure
baby
Boardman
was
as
good
as
gold,
a
perfect
little
dote
in
his
new
fancy bib.
None
of
your spoilt beauties,
Flora
MacFlimsy sort,
was
Cissy
Caffrey.
A
truerhearted
lass
never
drew the
breath
of
life,
always
with
a
laugh
in
her gipsylike eyes
and
a
frolicsome
word
on
her cherryripe
red
lips,
a
girl
lovable
in
the extreme.
And
Edy Boardman laughed
too
at
the
quaint
language
of
little
brother. But
just
then
there
was
a
slight
altercation
between
Master
Tommy
and
Master
Jacky. Boys
will
be
boys
and
our
two
twins
were
no
exception
to
this
golden
rule. The
apple
of
discord
was
a
certain
castle
of
sand
which
Master
Jacky had built
and
Master
Tommy would
have
it
right
go
wrong
that
it
was
to
be
architecturally improved
by
a
frontdoor
like
the Martello
tower
had. But
if
Master
Tommy
was
headstrong
Master
Jacky
was
selfwilled
too
and, true
to
the
maxim
that
every
little
Irishman's
house
is
his
castle,
he
fell
upon
his
hated rival
and
to
such
purpose
that
the wouldbe
assailant
came
to
grief
and
(alas
to
relate!) the coveted castle too. Needless
to
say
the cries
of
discomfited
Master
Tommy drew the
attention
of
the
girl
friends. —Come here, Tommy,
his
sister
called imperatively.
At
once!
And
you, Jacky,
for
shame
to
throw
poor
Tommy
in
the dirty sand.
Wait
till
I
catch
you
for
that.
His
eyes
misty
with
unshed tears
Master
Tommy came
at
her
call
for
their
big
sister's
word
was
law
with
the twins.
And
in
a
sad
plight
he
was
too
after
his
misadventure.
His
little
man-o'-war
top
and
unmentionables
were
full
of
sand but
Cissy
was
a
past
mistress
in
the
art
of
smoothing
over
life's tiny troubles
and
very
quickly
not
one
speck
of
sand
was
to
be
seen
on
his
smart
little
suit.
Still
the blue eyes
were
glistening
with
hot
tears
that
would
well
up
so
she
kissed
away
the hurtness
and
shook her
hand
at
Master
Jacky the
culprit
and
said
if
she
was
near
him
she
wouldn't
be
far
from
him, her eyes dancing
in
admonition. —Nasty
bold
Jacky!
she
cried.
She
put
an
arm
round the
little
mariner
and
coaxed winningly: —What's your name?
Butter
and
cream? —Tell
us
who
is
your sweetheart,
spoke
Edy Boardman.
Is
Cissy
your sweetheart? —Nao, tearful Tommy said. —Is Edy Boardman your sweetheart?
Cissy
queried. —Nao, Tommy said. —I know, Edy Boardman said
none
too
amiably
with
an arch glance
from
her shortsighted eyes. I
know
who
is
Tommy's sweetheart. Gerty
is
Tommy's sweetheart. —Nao, Tommy said
on
the
verge
of
tears. Cissy's
quick
motherwit guessed
what
was
amiss
and
she
whispered
to
Edy Boardman
to
take
him
there
behind
the pushcar
where
the gentleman couldn't
see
and
to
mind
he
didn't
wet
his
new
tan
shoes. But
who
was
Gerty?
For
an
instant
she
was
silent
with
rather
sad
downcast eyes.
She
was
about
to
retort but
something
checked the words
on
her tongue.
Inclination
prompted her
to
speak
out:
dignity
told her
to
be
silent. The pretty lips pouted
awhile
but
then
she
glanced
up
and
broke
out
into
a
joyous
little
laugh
which
had
in
it
all the freshness
of
a
young
May
morning.
She
knew
right
well, no-one better,
what
made
squinty Edy
say
that
because
of
him
cooling
in
his
attentions
when
it
was
simply
a
lovers' quarrel.
As
per
usual
somebody's
nose
was
out
of
joint
about
the
boy
that
had the
bicycle
off
the London
bridge
road
always
riding
up
and
down
in
front
of
her window.
Only
now
his
father kept
him
in
in
the evenings studying
hard
to
get
an
exhibition
in
the intermediate
that
was
on
and
he
was
going
to
go
to
Trinity
college
to
study
for
a
doctor
when
he
left
the high
school
like
his
brother
W. E. Wylie
who
was
racing
in
the
bicycle
races
in
Trinity
college
university.
Little
recked
he
perhaps
for
what
she
felt,
that
dull
aching void
in
her
heart
sometimes, piercing
to
the core.
Yet
he
was
young
and
perchance
he
might
learn
to
love
her
in
time.
They
were
protestants
in
his
family
and
of
course
Gerty knew
Who
came first
and
after
Him
the Blessed
Virgin
and
then
Saint Joseph. But
he
was
undeniably handsome
with
an
exquisite
nose
and
he
was
what
he
looked,
every
inch
a
gentleman, the
shape
of
his
head
too
at
the
back
without
his
cap
on
that
she
would
know
anywhere
something
off
the
common
and
the
way
he
turned the
bicycle
at
the
lamp
with
his
hands
off
the bars
and
also
the
nice
perfume
of
those
good
cigarettes
and
besides
they
were
both
of
a
size
too
he
and
she
and
that
was
why
Edy Boardman
thought
she
was
so
frightfully
clever
because
he
didn't
go
and
ride
up
and
down
in
front
of
her
bit
of
a
garden.
And
yet
and
yet!
That
strained
look
on
her face!
A
gnawing
sorrow
is
there all the time. Her
very
soul
is
in
her eyes
and
she
would
give
worlds
to
be
in
the
privacy
of
her
own
familiar
chamber
where, giving
way
to
tears,
she
could
have
a
good
cry
and
relieve
her pentup feelingsthough not
too
much
because
she
knew
how
to
cry
nicely before the mirror.
You
are
lovely, Gerty,
it
said. The paly
light
of
evening
falls
upon
a
face infinitely
sad
and
wistful. Gerty MacDowell yearns
in
vain. Yes,
she
had known
from
the
very
first
that
her daydream
of
a
marriage
has been arranged
and
the weddingbells ringing
for
Mrs Reggy Wylie T. C. D. (because the
one
who
married the
elder
brother
would
be
Mrs Wylie)
and
in
the fashionable
intelligence
Mrs Gertrude Wylie
was
wearing
a
sumptuous
confection
of
grey trimmed
with
expensive blue
fox
was
not
to
be.
He
was
too
young
to
understand.
He
would not
believe
in
love,
a
woman's birthright. The
night
of
the
party
long
ago
in
Stoer's (he
was
still
in
short
trousers)
when
they
were
alone
and
he
stole
an
arm
round her
waist
she
went
white
to
the
very
lips.
He
called her
little
one
in
a
strangely
husky
voice
and
snatched
a
half
kiss
(the first!) but
it
was
only
the
end
of
her
nose
and
then
he
hastened
from
the
room
with
a
remark
about
refreshments.
Impetuous
fellow!
Strength
of
character
had
never
been Reggy Wylie's
strong
point
and
he
who
would
woo
and
win
Gerty MacDowell
must
be
a
man
among
men. But waiting,
always
waiting
to
be
asked
and
it
was
leap
year
too
and
would
soon
be
over. No prince charming
is
her
beau
ideal
to
lay
a
rare
and
wondrous
love
at
her feet but
rather
a
manly
man
with
a
strong
quiet
face
who
had not found
his
ideal,
perhaps
his
hair
slightly flecked
with
grey,
and
who
would understand,
take
her
in
his
sheltering arms, strain her
to
him
in
all the
strength
of
his
deep
passionate
nature
and
comfort
her
with
a
long
long
kiss.
It
would
be
like
heaven.
For
such
a
one
she
yearns
this
balmy
summer
eve.
With
all the
heart
of
her
she
longs
to
be
his
only,
his
affianced
bride
for
riches
for
poor,
in
sickness
in
health,
till
death
us
two
part,
from
this
to
this
day
forward.
And
while
Edy Boardman
was
with
little
Tommy
behind
the pushcar
she
was
just
thinking would the
day
ever
come
when
she
could
call
herself
his
little
wife
to
be.
Then
they
could
talk
about
her
till
they
went blue
in
the face, Bertha
Supple
too,
and
Edy,
little
spitfire,
because
she
would
be
twentytwo
in
November.
She
would
care
for
him
with
creature
comforts
too
for
Gerty
was
womanly
wise
and
knew
that
a
mere
man
liked
that
feeling
of
hominess. Her griddlecakes done
to
a
goldenbrown
hue
and
queen
Ann's
pudding
of
delightful creaminess had won
golden
opinions
from
all
because
she
had
a
lucky
hand
also
for
lighting
a
fire,
dredge
in
the
fine
selfraising flour
and
always
stir
in
the
same
direction,
then
cream the
milk
and
sugar
and
whisk
well
the
white
of
eggs though
she
didn't
like
the eating
part
when
there
were
any
people
that
made
her
shy
and
often
she
wondered
why
you
couldn't
eat
something
poetical
like
violets
or
roses
and
they
would
have
a
beautifully appointed drawingroom
with
pictures
and
engravings
and
the photograph
of
grandpapa Giltrap's
lovely
dog
Garryowen
that
almost
talked
it
was
so
human
and
chintz
covers
for
the chairs
and
that
silver
toastrack
in
Clery's
summer
jumble sales
like
they
have
in
rich
houses.
He
would
be
tall
with
broad
shoulders (she had
always
admired
tall
men
for
a
husband)
with
glistening
white
teeth under
his
carefully
trimmed sweeping moustache
and
they
would
go
on
the
continent
for
their
honeymoon
(three
wonderful
weeks!)
and
then,
when
they
settled
down
in
a
nice
snug
and
cosy
little
homely
house,
every
morning
they
would both
have
brekky,
simple
but perfectly served,
for
their
own
two
selves
and
before
he
went
out
to
business
he
would
give
his
dear
little
wifey
a
good
hearty
hug
and
gaze
for
a
moment
deep
down
into
her eyes. Edy Boardman asked Tommy Caffrey
was
he
done
and
he
said
yes
so
then
she
buttoned
up
his
little
knickerbockers
for
him
and
told
him
to
run
off
and
play
with
Jacky
and
to
be
good
now
and
not
to
fight. But Tommy said
he
wanted the
ball
and
Edy told
him
no
that
baby
was
playing
with
the
ball
and
if
he
took
it
there'd
be
wigs
on
the
green
but Tommy said
it
was
his
ball
and
he
wanted
his
ball
and
he
pranced
on
the ground,
if
you
please. The temper
of
him! O,
he
was
a
man
already
was
little
Tommy Caffrey
since
he
was
out
of
pinnies. Edy told
him
no, no
and
to
be
off
now
with
him
and
she
told
Cissy
Caffrey not
to
give
in
to
him. —You're not my sister,
naughty
Tommy said. It's my ball. But
Cissy
Caffrey told
baby
Boardman
to
look
up,
look
up
high
at
her
finger
and
she
snatched the
ball
quickly
and
threw
it
along
the sand
and
Tommy
after
it
in
full
career, having won the day. —Anything
for
a
quiet
life, laughed Ciss.
And
she
tickled tiny tot's
two
cheeks
to
make
him
forget
and
played here's the lord mayor, here's
his
two
horses, here's
his
gingerbread
carriage
and
here
he
walks in, chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopper chin. But Edy got
as
cross
as
two
sticks
about
him
getting
his
own
way
like
that
from
everyone
always
petting him. —I'd
like
to
give
him
something,
she
said,
so
I would,
where
I won't say. —On the beeoteetom, laughed
Cissy
merrily. Gerty MacDowell bent
down
her
head
and
crimsoned
at
the
idea
of
Cissy
saying
an unladylike
thing
like
that
out
loud
she'd
be
ashamed
of
her
life
to
say, flushing
a
deep
rosy
red,
and
Edy Boardman said
she
was
sure
the gentleman
opposite
heard
what
she
said. But not
a
pin
cared Ciss. —Let him!
she
said
with
a
pert
toss
of
her
head
and
a
piquant
tilt
of
her nose.
Give
it
to
him
too
on
the
same
place
as
quick
as
I'd
look
at
him. Madcap Ciss
with
her
golliwog
curls.
You
had
to
laugh
at
her sometimes.
For
instance
when
she
asked
you
would
you
have
some
more
Chinese
tea
and
jaspberry ram
and
when
she
drew the jugs
too
and
the men's faces
on
her nails
with
red
ink
make
you
split your sides
or
when
she
wanted
to
go
where
you
know
she
said
she
wanted
to
run
and
pay
a
visit
to
the
Miss
White.
That
was
just
like
Cissycums. O,
and
will
you
ever
forget
her the
evening
she
dressed
up
in
her father's suit
and
hat
and
the burned cork moustache
and
walked
down
Tritonville road, smoking
a
cigarette. There
was
none
to
come
up
to
her
for
fun. But
she
was
sincerity
itself,
one
of
the bravest
and
truest hearts
heaven
ever
made, not
one
of
your twofaced things,
too
sweet
to
be
wholesome.
And
then
there came
out
upon
the air the
sound
of
voices
and
the pealing
anthem
of
the organ.
It
was
the men's
temperance
retreat
conducted
by
the missioner, the
reverend
John Hughes S. J., rosary,
sermon
and
benediction
of
the
Most
Blessed Sacrament.
They
were
there gathered
together
without
distinction
of
social
class
(and
a
most
edifying
spectacle
it
was
to
see)
in
that
simple
fane
beside
the waves,
after
the storms
of
this
weary
world, kneeling before the feet
of
the immaculate, reciting the
litany
of
Our
Lady
of
Loreto, beseeching her
to
intercede
for
them, the
old
familiar
words,
holy
Mary,
holy
virgin
of
virgins.
How
sad
to
poor
Gerty's ears! Had her father
only
avoided the clutches
of
the
demon
drink,
by
taking the
pledge
or
those
powders the
drink
habit
cured
in
Pearson's Weekly,
she
might
now
be
rolling
in
her carriage,
second
to
none.
Over
and
over
had
she
told herself
that
as
she
mused
by
the dying embers
in
a
brown
study
without the
lamp
because
she
hated
two
lights
or
oftentimes gazing
out
of
the
window
dreamily
by
the
hour
at
the
rain
falling
on
the
rusty
bucket, thinking. But
that
vile
decoction
which
has ruined
so
many
hearths
and
homes had
cist
its
shadow
over
her
childhood
days. Nay,
she
had
even
witnessed
in
the
home
circle deeds
of
violence
caused
by
intemperance
and
had seen her
own
father,
a
prey
to
the fumes
of
intoxication,
forget
himself
completely
for
if
there
was
one
thing
of
all things
that
Gerty knew
it
was
that
the
man
who
lifts
his
hand
to
a
woman
save
in
the
way
of
kindness, deserves
to
be
branded
as
the lowest
of
the low.
A
sterling
good
daughter
was
Gerty
just
like
a
second
mother
in
the house,
a
ministering
angel
too
with
a
little
heart
worth
its
weight
in
gold.
And
when
her mother had
those
raging splitting headaches
who
was
it
rubbed the
menthol
cone
on
her
forehead
but Gerty though
she
didn't
like
her mother's taking pinches
of
snuff
and
that
was
the
only
single
thing
they
ever
had words about, taking snuff. Everyone
thought
the
world
of
her
for
her
gentle
ways.
It
was
Gerty
who
turned
off
the
gas
at
the
main
every
night
and
it
was
Gerty
who
tacked
up
on
the
wall
of
that
place
where
she
never
forgot
every
fortnight
the chlorate
of
lime
Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the
picture
of
halcyon
days
where
a
young
gentleman
in
the
costume
they
used
to
wear
then
with
a
threecornered
hat
was
offering
a
bunch
of
flowers
to
his
ladylove
with
oldtime
chivalry
through her
lattice
window.
You
could
see
there
was
a
story
behind
it. The colours
were
done
something
lovely.
She
was
in
a
soft
clinging
white
in
a
studied
attitude
and
the gentleman
was
in
chocolate
and
he
looked
a
thorough
aristocrat.
She
often
looked
at
them
dreamily
when
she
went there
for
a
certain
purpose
and
felt her
own
arms
that
were
white
and
soft
just
like
hers
with
the sleeves
back
and
thought
about
those
times
because
she
had found
out
in
Walker's pronouncing
dictionary
that
belonged
to
grandpapa Giltrap
about
the
halcyon
days
what
they
meant. The twins
were
now
playing
in
the
most
approved
brotherly
fashion
till
at
last
Master
Jacky
who
was
really
as
bold
as
brass
there
was
no getting
behind
that
deliberately kicked the
ball
as
hard
as
ever
he
could
down
towards
the seaweedy rocks. Needless
to
say
poor
Tommy
was
not
slow
to
voice
his
dismay but luckily the gentleman
in
black
who
was
sitting there
by
himself
came gallantly
to
the
rescue
and
intercepted the ball.
Our
two
champions claimed
their
plaything
with
lusty cries
and
to
avoid
trouble
Cissy
Caffrey called
to
the gentleman
to
throw
it
to
her please. The gentleman aimed the
ball
once
or
twice
and
then
threw
it
up
the
strand
towards
Cissy
Caffrey but
it
rolled
down
the slope
and
stopped
right
under Gerty's
skirt
near
the
little
pool
by
the rock. The twins clamoured
again
for
it
and
Cissy
told her
to
kick
it
away
and
let
them
fight
for
it
so
Gerty drew
back
her
foot
but
she
wished
their
stupid
ball
hadn't
come
rolling
down
to
her
and
she
gave
a
kick
but
she
missed
and
Edy
and
Cissy
laughed. —If
you
fail
try
again, Edy Boardman said. Gerty smiled
assent
and
bit
her lip.
A
delicate
pink
crept
into
her pretty
cheek
but
she
was
determined
to
let
them
see
so
she
just
lifted her
skirt
a
little
but
just
enough
and
took
good
aim
and
gave the
ball
a
jolly
good
kick
and
it
went
ever
so
far
and
the
two
twins
after
it
down
towards
the shingle.
Pure
jealousy
of
course
it
was
nothing
else
to
draw
attention
on
account
of
the gentleman
opposite
looking.
She
felt the
warm
flush,
a
danger
signal
always
with
Gerty MacDowell, surging
and
flaming
into
her cheeks.
Till
then
they
had
only
exchanged glances
of
the
most
casual
but
now
under the brim
of
her
new
hat
she
ventured
a
look
at
him
and
the face
that
met her gaze there
in
the twilight,
wan
and
strangely drawn, seemed
to
her the saddest
she
had
ever
seen. Through the
open
window
of
the church the
fragrant
incense
was
wafted
and
with
it
the
fragrant
names
of
her
who
was
conceived without stain
of
original
sin, spiritual vessel,
pray
for
us,
honourable
vessel,
pray
for
us,
vessel
of
singular
devotion,
pray
for
us, mystical rose.
And
careworn hearts
were
there
and
toilers
for
their
daily
bread
and
many
who
had erred
and
wandered,
their
eyes
wet
with
contrition
but
for
all
that
bright
with
hope
for
the
reverend
father Father Hughes had told
them
what
the
great
saint Bernard said
in
his
famous
prayer
of
Mary, the
most
pious
Virgin's intercessory power
that
it
was
not recorded
in
any
age
that
those
who
implored her powerful
protection
were
ever
abandoned
by
her. The twins
were
now
playing
again
right
merrily
for
the troubles
of
childhood
are
but
as
fleeting
summer
showers.
Cissy
Caffrey played
with
baby
Boardman
till
he
crowed
with
glee, clapping
baby
hands
in
air. Peep
she
cried
behind
the hood
of
the pushcar
and
Edy asked
where
was
Cissy
gone
and
then
Cissy
popped
up
her
head
and
cried ah! and, my word, didn't the
little
chap
enjoy
that!
And
then
she
told
him
to
say
papa. —Say papa, baby.
Say
pa pa pa pa pa pa pa.
And
baby
did
his
level
best
to
say
it
for
he
was
very
intelligent
for
eleven
months everyone said
and
big
for
his
age
and
the
picture
of
health,
a
perfect
little
bunch
of
love,
and
he
would certainly
turn
out
to
be
something
great,
they
said. —Haja ja ja haja.
Cissy
wiped
his
little
mouth
with
the dribbling
bib
and
wanted
him
to
sit
up
properly
and
say
pa pa pa but
when
she
undid the strap
she
cried out,
holy
saint Denis,
that
he
was
possing
wet
and
to
double
the half blanket the
other
way
under him.
Of
course
his
infant
majesty
was
most
obstreperous
at
such
toilet
formalities
and
he
let
everyone
know
it: —Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa.
And
two
great
big
lovely
big
tears coursing
down
his
cheeks.
It
was
all no
use
soothering
him
with
no, nono, baby, no
and
telling
him
about
the geegee
and
where
was
the puffpuff but Ciss,
always
readywitted, gave
him
in
his
mouth
the
teat
of
the suckingbottle
and
the
young
heathen
was
quickly
appeased. The exasperating
little
brats
of
twins began
to
quarrel
again
and
Jacky threw the
ball
out
towards
the
sea
and
they
both ran
after
it.
Little
monkeys
common
as
ditchwater. Someone
ought
to
take
them
and
give
them
a
good
hiding
for
themselves
to
keep
them
in
their
places, the both
of
them.
And
Cissy
and
Edy shouted
after
them
to
come
back
because
they
were
afraid
the
tide
might
come
in
on
them
and
be
drowned. —Jacky! Tommy!
Cissy
came
up
along
the
strand
with
the
two
twins
and
their
ball
with
her
hat
anyhow
on
her
to
one
side
after
her
run
and
she
did
look
a
streel tugging the
two
kids
along
with
the flimsy
blouse
she
bought
only
a
fortnight
before
like
a
rag
on
her
back
and
a
bit
of
her petticoat hanging
like
a
caricature. Gerty
just
took
off
her
hat
for
a
moment
to
settle
her
hair
and
a
prettier,
a
daintier
head
of
nutbrown tresses
was
never
seen
on
a
girl's shoulders—a radiant
little
vision,
in
sooth,
almost
maddening
in
its sweetness.
You
would
have
to
travel
many
a
long
mile
before
you
found
a
head
of
hair
the
like
of
that.
She
could
almost
see
the swift answering flash
of
admiration
in
his
eyes
that
set
her tingling
in
every
nerve.
She
put
on
her
hat
so
that
she
could
see
from
underneath
the brim
and
swung her buckled
shoe
faster
for
her
breath
caught
as
she
caught the
expression
in
his
eyes.
He
was
eying her
as
a
snake eyes its prey. Her woman's
instinct
told her
that
she
had raised the
devil
in
him
and
at
the
thought
a
burning
scarlet
swept
from
throat
to
brow
till
the
lovely
colour
of
her face became
a
glorious
rose. Edy Boardman
was
noticing
it
too
because
she
was
squinting
at
Gerty, half smiling,
with
her specs
like
an
old
maid, pretending
to
nurse
the baby.
Irritable
little
gnat
she
was
and
always
would
be
and
that
was
why
no-one
could
get
on
with
her poking her
nose
into
what
was
no concern
of
hers.
And
she
said
to
Gerty: —A
penny
for
your thoughts. —What? replied Gerty
with
a
smile
reinforced
by
the whitest
of
teeth. I
was
only
wondering
was
it
late.
Because
she
wished
to
goodness
they'd
take
the snottynosed twins
and
their
babby
home
to
the
mischief
out
of
that
so
that
was
why
she
just
gave
a
gentle
hint
about
its being late.
And
when
Cissy
came
up
Edy asked her the
time
and
Miss
Cissy,
as
glib
as
you
like, said
it
was
half past kissing time,
time
to
kiss
again. But Edy wanted
to
know
because
they
were
told
to
be
in
early. —Wait, said Cissy, I'll
run
ask
my
uncle
Peter
over
there what's the
time
by
his
conundrum.
So
over
she
went
and
when
he
saw
her coming
she
could
see
him
take
his
hand
out
of
his
pocket, getting nervous,
and
beginning
to
play
with
his
watchchain, looking
up
at
the church.
Passionate
nature
though
he
was
Gerty
could
see
that
he
had
enormous
control
over
himself.
One
moment
he
had been there, fascinated
by
a
loveliness
that
made
him
gaze,
and
the
next
moment
it
was
the
quiet
gravefaced gentleman, selfcontrol expressed
in
every
line
of
his
distinguishedlooking figure.
Cissy
said
to
excuse
her would
he
mind
please
telling her
what
was
the
right
time
and
Gerty
could
see
him
taking
out
his
watch, listening
to
it
and
looking
up
and
clearing
his
throat
and
he
said
he
was
very
sorry
his
watch
was
stopped but
he
thought
it
must
be
after
eight
because
the
sun
was
set.
His
voice had
a
cultured ring
in
it
and
though
he
spoke
in
measured accents there
was
a
suspicion
of
a
quiver
in
the mellow tones.
Cissy
said
thanks
and
came
back
with
her tongue
out
and
said
uncle
said
his
waterworks
were
out
of
order. —O, responded Gerty,
quick
as
lightning, laughing,
and
the
proud
head
flashed up. I
can
throw my
cap
at
who
I
like
because
it's
leap
year. Her words
rang
out
crystalclear,
more
musical
than
the cooing
of
the ringdove, but
they
cut
the silence icily. There
was
that
in
her
young
voice
that
told
that
she
was
not
a
one
to
be
lightly
trifled with.
As
for
Mr Reggy
with
his
swank
and
his
bit
of
money
she
could
just
chuck
him
aside
as
if
he
was
so
much
filth
and
never
again
would
she
cast
as
much
as
a
second
thought
on
him
and
tear
his
silly
postcard
into
a
dozen
pieces.
And
if
ever
after
he
dared
to
presume
she
could
give
him
one
look
of
measured
scorn
that
would
make
him
shrivel
up
on
the spot.
Miss
puny
little
Edy's countenance
fell
to
no slight
extent
and
Gerty
could
see
by
her looking
as
black
as
thunder
that
she
was
simply
in
a
towering
rage
though
she
hid it, the
little
kinnatt,
because
that
shaft
had struck
home
for
her
petty
jealousy
and
they
both knew
that
she
was
something
aloof, apart,
in
another
sphere,
that
she
was
not
of
them
and
never
would
be
and
there
was
somebody
else
too
that
knew
it
and
saw
it
so
they
could
put
that
in
their
pipe
and
smoke
it. Edy straightened
up
baby
Boardman
to
get
ready
to
go
and
Cissy
tucked
in
the
ball
and
the spades
and
buckets
and
it
was
high
time
too
because
the
sandman
was
on
his
way
for
Master
Boardman junior.
And
Cissy
told
him
too
that
billy
winks
was
coming
and
that
baby
was
to
go
deedaw
and
baby
looked
just
too
ducky, laughing
up
out
of
his
gleeful eyes,
and
Cissy
poked
him
like
that
out
of
fun
in
his
wee
fat
tummy
and
baby, without
as
much
as
by
your leave, sent
up
his
compliments
to
all
and
sundry
on
to
his
brandnew dribbling bib. —O my! Puddeny pie! protested Ciss.
He
has
his
bib
destroyed. Gerty stifled
a
smothered
exclamation
and
gave
a
nervous
cough
and
Edy asked
what
and
she
was
just
going
to
tell
her
to
catch
it
while
it
was
flying
but
she
was
ever
ladylike
in
her
deportment
so
she
simply passed
it
off
with
consummate
tact
by
saying
that
that
was
the
benediction
because
just
then
the bell
rang
out
from
the
steeple
over
the
quiet
seashore
because
Canon
O'Hanlon
was
up
on
the
altar
with
the
veil
that
Father Conroy
put
round
his
shoulders giving the
benediction
with
the Blessed
Sacrament
in
his
hands. —O, look, Cissy!
And
they
all looked
was
it
sheet
lightning
but Tommy
saw
it
too
over
the trees
beside
the church, blue
and
then
green
and
purple. —It's fireworks,
Cissy
Caffrey said.
And
they
all ran
down
the
strand
to
see
over
the houses
and
the church, helterskelter, Edy
with
the pushcar
with
baby
Boardman
in
it
and
Cissy
holding Tommy
and
Jacky
by
the
hand
so
they
wouldn't
fall
running. —Come on, Gerty,
Cissy
called. It's the
bazaar
fireworks. But Gerty
was
adamant.
She
had no
intention
of
being
at
their
beck
and
call.
If
they
could
run
like
rossies
she
could
sit
so
she
said
she
could
see
from
where
she
was. The eyes
that
were
fastened
upon
her
set
her pulses tingling.
She
looked
at
him
a
moment,
meeting
his
glance,
and
a
light
broke
in
upon
her. Whitehot
passion
was
in
that
face,
passion
silent
as
the grave,
and
it
had
made
her his.
At
last
they
were
left
alone without the others
to
pry
and
pass remarks
and
she
knew
he
could
be
trusted
to
the death, steadfast,
a
sterling
man,
a
man
of
inflexible
honour
to
his
fingertips.
His
hands
and
face
were
working
and
a
tremour went
over
her.
She
leaned
back
far
to
look
up
where
the fireworks
were
and
she
caught her
knee
in
her hands
so
as
not
to
fall
back
looking
up
and
there
was
no-one
to
see
only
him
and
her
when
she
revealed all her graceful beautifully shaped legs
like
that, supply
soft
and
delicately rounded,
and
she
seemed
to
hear
the panting
of
his
heart,
his
hoarse
breathing,
because
she
knew
too
about
the
passion
of
men
like
that, hotblooded,
because
Bertha
Supple
told her
once
in
dead
secret
and
made
her
swear
she'd
never
about
the gentleman lodger
that
was
staying
with
them
out
of
the Congested Districts
Board
that
had pictures
cut
out
of
papers
of
those
skirtdancers
and
highkickers
and
she
said
he
used
to
do
something
not
very
nice
that
you
could
imagine
sometimes
in
the bed. But
this
was
altogether
different
from
a
thing
like
that
because
there
was
all the
difference
because
she
could
almost
feel
him
draw
her face
to
his
and
the first
quick
hot
touch
of
his
handsome lips. Besides there
was
absolution
so
long
as
you
didn't
do
the
other
thing
before being married
and
there
ought
to
be
women priests
that
would
understand
without your telling
out
and
Cissy
Caffrey
too
sometimes had
that
dreamy
kind
of
dreamy
look
in
her eyes
so
that
she
too, my dear,
and
Winny Rippingham
so
mad
about
actors' photographs
and
besides
it
was
on
account
of
that
other
thing
coming
on
the
way
it
did.
And
Jacky Caffrey shouted
to
look, there
was
another
and
she
leaned
back
and
the garters
were
blue
to
match
on
account
of
the
transparent
and
they
all
saw
it
and
they
all shouted
to
look, look, there
it
was
and
she
leaned
back
ever
so
far
to
see
the fireworks
and
something
queer
was
flying
through the air,
a
soft
thing,
to
and
fro, dark.
And
she
saw
a
long
Roman
candle
going
up
over
the trees, up, up, and,
in
the tense hush,
they
were
all breathless
with
excitement
as
it
went higher
and
higher
and
she
had
to
lean
back
more
and
more
to
look
up
after
it, high, high,
almost
out
of
sight,
and
her face
was
suffused
with
a
divine, an entrancing blush
from
straining
back
and
he
could
see
her
other
things too, nainsook knickers, the
fabric
that
caresses the skin,
better
than
those
other
pettiwidth, the green, four
and
eleven,
on
account
of
being
white
and
she
let
him
and
she
saw
that
he
saw
and
then
it
went
so
high
it
went
out
of
sight
a
moment
and
she
was
trembling
in
every
limb
from
being bent
so
far
back
that
he
had
a
full
view high
up
above
her
knee
where
no-one
ever
not
even
on
the
swing
or
wading
and
she
wasn't
ashamed
and
he
wasn't either
to
look
in
that
immodest
way
like
that
because
he
couldn't
resist
the sight
of
the
wondrous
revealment half offered
like
those
skirtdancers behaving
so
immodest
before gentlemen looking
and
he
kept
on
looking, looking.
She
would
fain
have
cried
to
him
chokingly, held
out
her
snowy
slender
arms
to
him
to
come,
to
feel
his
lips laid
on
her
white
brow, the
cry
of
a
young
girl's love,
a
little
strangled cry, wrung
from
her,
that
cry
that
has
rung
through the ages.
And
then
a
rocket sprang
and
bang
shot
blind
blank
and
O!
then
the
Roman
candle
burst
and
it
was
like
a
sigh
of
O!
and
everyone cried O! O!
in
raptures
and
it
gushed
out
of
it
a
stream
of
rain
gold
hair
threads
and
they
shed
and
ah!
they
were
all greeny
dewy
stars falling
with
golden, O
so
lovely, O, soft, sweet, soft!
Then
all melted
away
dewily
in
the grey air: all
was
silent. Ah!
She
glanced
at
him
as
she
bent forward quickly,
a
pathetic
little
glance
of
piteous
protest,
of
shy
reproach
under
which
he
coloured
like
a
girl
He
was
leaning
back
against the rock behind. Leopold
Bloom
(for
it
is
he) stands silent,
with
bowed
head
before
those
young
guileless eyes.
What
a
brute
he
had been!
At
it
again?
A
fair
unsullied soul had called
to
him
and,
wretch
that
he
was,
how
had
he
answered? An
utter
cad
he
had been!
He
of
all men! But there
was
an
infinite
store
of
mercy
in
those
eyes,
for
him
too
a
word
of
pardon
even
though
he
had erred
and
sinned
and
wandered. Should
a
girl
tell? No,
a
thousand
times no.
That
was
their
secret,
only
theirs, alone
in
the
hiding
twilight
and
there
was
none
to
know
or
tell
save the
little
bat
that
flew
so
softly through the
evening
to
and
fro
and
little
bats don't tell.
Cissy
Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys
in
the football
field
to
show
what
a
great
person
she
was:
and
then
she
cried: —Gerty! Gerty! We're going.
Come
on.
We
can
see
from
farther
up. Gerty had an idea,
one
of
love's
little
ruses.
She
slipped
a
hand
into
her
kerchief
pocket
and
took
out
the wadding
and
waved
in
reply
of
course
without letting
him
and
then
slipped
it
back.
Wonder
if
he's
too
far
to.
She
rose.
Was
it
goodbye? No.
She
had
to
go
but
they
would meet again, there,
and
she
would
dream
of
that
till
then, tomorrow,
of
her
dream
of
yester eve.
She
drew herself
up
to
her
full
height.
Their
souls met
in
a
last
lingering glance
and
the eyes
that
reached her heart,
full
of
a
strange
shining,
hung
enraptured
on
her
sweet
flowerlike face.
She
half smiled
at
him
wanly,
a
sweet
forgiving smile,
a
smile
that
verged
on
tears,
and
then
they
parted. Slowly, without looking
back
she
went
down
the
uneven
strand
to
Cissy,
to
Edy
to
Jacky
and
Tommy Caffrey,
to
little
baby
Boardman.
It
was
darker
now
and
there
were
stones
and
bits
of
wood
on
the
strand
and
slippy seaweed.
She
walked
with
a
certain
quiet
dignity
characteristic
of
her but
with
care
and
very
slowly
because—because Gerty MacDowell was...
Tight
boots? No. She's lame! O! Ah! Devils
they
are
when
that's coming
on
them. Dark devilish appearance.
Molly
often
told
me
feel things
a
ton weight.
Scratch
the
sole
of
my foot. O
that
way! O, that's exquisite! Feel
it
myself
too.
Good
to
rest
once
in
a
way.
Wonder
if
it's
bad
to
go
with
them
then.
Safe
in
one
way. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap.
Something
about
withering plants I read
in
a
garden. Besides
they
say
if
the flower
withers
she
wears she's
a
flirt. All are. Daresay
she
felt 1.
When
you
feel
like
that
you
often
meet
what
you
feel. Liked
me
or
what? Dress
they
look
at.
Always
know
a
fellow
courting: collars
and
cuffs.
Well
cocks
and
lions
do
the
same
and
stags.
Same
time
might
prefer
a
tie
undone
or
something. Trousers?
Suppose
I
when
I was? No. Gently does it.
Dislike
rough
and
tumble.
Kiss
in
the dark
and
never
tell.
Saw
something
in
me.
Wonder
what. Sooner
have
me
as
I
am
than
some
poet
chap
with
bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock
over
his
dexter optic.
To
aid
gentleman
in
literary.
Ought
to
attend
to
my
appearance
my age. Didn't
let
her
see
me
in
profile. Still,
you
never
know. Pretty girls
and
ugly
men marrying.
Beauty
and
the beast. Besides I can't
be
so
if
Molly. Took
off
her
hat
to
show
her hair.
Wide
brim. Bought
to
hide
her face,
meeting
someone
might
know
her,
bend
down
or
carry
a
bunch
of
flowers
to
smell.
Hair
strong
in
rut. Ten
bob
I got
for
Molly's combings
when
we
were
on
the rocks
in
Holles street.
Why
not?
Suppose
he
gave her money.
Why
not? All
a
prejudice. She's
worth
ten, fifteen, more,
a
pound. What? I
think
so. All
that
for
nothing.
Bold
hand: Mrs Marion.
Did
I
forget
to
write
address
on
that
letter
like
the postcard I sent
to
Flynn?
And
the
day
I went
to
Drimmie's without
a
necktie.
Wrangle
with
Molly
it
was
put
me
off. No, I remember. Richie Goulding: he's another. Weighs
on
his
mind. Funny my
watch
stopped
at
half past four. Dust. Shark
liver
oil
they
use
to
clean.
Could
do
it
myself. Save.
Was
that
just
when
he, she? O,
he
did.
Into
her.
She
did. Done. Ah! There
she
is
with
them
down
there
for
the fireworks. My fireworks.
Up
like
a
rocket,
down
like
a
stick.
And
the children, twins
they
must
be, waiting
for
something
to
happen.
Want
to
be
grownups. Dressing
in
mother's clothes.
Time
enough,
understand
all the ways
of
the world.
And
the dark
one
with
the
mop
head
and
the
nigger
mouth. I knew
she
could
whistle.
Mouth
made
for
that.
Like
Molly.
Why
that
highclass whore
in
Jammet's wore her
veil
only
to
her nose. Would
you
mind, please, telling
me
the
right
time? I'll
tell
you
the
right
time
up
a
dark lane.
Say
prunes
and
prisms
forty
times
every
morning,
cure
for
fat
lips. Caressing the
little
boy
too. Onlookers
see
most
of
the game.
Of
course
they
understand
birds, animals, babies.
In
their
line.
A
monkey
puzzle rocket burst, spluttering
in
darting crackles. Zrads
and
zrads, zrads, zrads.
And
Cissy
and
Tommy
and
Jacky ran
out
to
see
and
Edy
after
with
the pushcar
and
then
Gerty
beyond
the curve
of
the rocks.
Will
she? Watch! Watch! See! Looked round.
She
smelt
an onion. Darling, I saw, your. I
saw
all. Lord!
Place
made
me
think
of
that
I suppose. All tarred
with
the
same
brush Wiping pens
in
their
stockings. But the
ball
rolled
down
to
her
as
if
it
understood.
Every
bullet
has its billet.
Course
I
never
could
throw
anything
straight
at
school. Crooked
as
a
ram's horn.
Sad
however
because
it
lasts
only
a
few
years
till
they
settle
down
to
potwalloping
and
papa's pants
will
soon
fit Willy
and
fuller's
earth
for
the
baby
when
they
hold
him
out
to
do
ah ah. No
soft
job. Saves them. Keeps
them
out
of
harm's way. Nature.
Washing
child,
washing
corpse. Dignam. Children's hands
always
round them. Cocoanut skulls, monkeys, not
even
closed
at
first,
sour
milk
in
their
swaddles
and
tainted curds. Oughtn't
to
have
given
that
child
an empty
teat
to
suck.
Fill
it
up
with
wind. Mrs Beaufoy, Purefoy.
Must
call
to
the hospital.
Wonder
is
nurse
Callan there still.
She
used
to
look
over
some
nights
when
Molly
was
in
the
Coffee
Palace.
That
young
doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing
his
coat.
And
Mrs Breen
and
Mrs Dignam
once
like
that
too, marriageable. Worst
of
all
at
night
Mrs Duggan told
me
in
the
City
Arms. Husband rolling
in
drunk, stink
of
pub
off
him
like
a
polecat.
Have
that
in
your
nose
in
the dark, whiff
of
stale boose.
Then
ask
in
the morning:
was
I
drunk
last
night?
Bad
policy
however
to
fault the husband. Chickens
come
home
to
roost.
They
stick
by
one
another
like
glue. Maybe the women's fault also. That's
where
Molly
can
knock
spots
off
them. It's the blood
of
the south. Moorish.
Also
the form, the figure. Hands felt
for
the opulent.
Just
compare
for
instance
those
others.
Wife
locked
up
at
home,
skeleton
in
the cupboard.
Allow
me
to
introduce
my.
Then
they
trot
you
out
some
kind
of
a
nondescript, wouldn't
know
what
to
call
her.
Always
see
a
fellow's
weak
point
in
his
wife.
Still
there's
destiny
in
it, falling
in
love.
Have
their
own
secrets
between
them. Chaps
that
would
go
to
the dogs
if
some
woman
didn't
take
them
in
hand.
Then
little
chits
of
girls,
height
of
a
shilling
in
coppers,
with
little
hubbies.
As
God
made
them
he
matched them. Sometimes children
turn
out
well
enough.
Twice
nought
makes one.
Or
old
rich
chap
of
seventy
and
blushing bride.
Marry
in
May
and
repent
in
December.
This
wet
is
very
unpleasant. Stuck.
Well
the
foreskin
is
not back.
Better
detach. Ow!
Other
hand
a
sixfooter
with
a
wifey
up
to
his
watchpocket.
Long
and
the
short
of
it.
Big
he
and
little
she.
Very
strange
about
my watch. Wristwatches
are
always
going wrong.
Wonder
is
there
any
magnetic
influence
between
the
person
because
that
was
about
the
time
he. Yes, I suppose,
at
once. Cat's away, the
mice
will
play. I
remember
looking
in
Pill
lane.
Also
that
now
is
magnetism.
Back
of
everything magnetism.
Earth
for
instance
pulling
this
and
being pulled.
That
causes movement.
And
time,
well
that's the
time
the
movement
takes.
Then
if
one
thing
stopped the
whole
ghesabo would stop
bit
by
bit.
Because
it's all arranged.
Magnetic
needle tells
you
what's going
on
in
the sun, the stars.
Little
piece
of
steel
iron.
When
you
hold
out
the fork. Come. Come. Tip.
Woman
and
man
that
is. Fork
and
steel. Molly, he. Dress
up
and
look
and
suggest
and
let
you
see
and
see
more
and
defy
you
if
you're
a
man
to
see
that
and,
like
a
sneeze coming, legs, look,
look
and
if
you
have
any
guts
in
you. Tip.
Have
to
let
fly.
Wonder
how
is
she
feeling
in
that
region.
Shame
all
put
on
before
third
person.
More
put
out
about
a
hole
in
her stocking. Molly, her underjaw stuck out,
head
back,
about
the
farmer
in
the ridingboots
and
spurs
at
the
horse
show.
And
when
the painters
were
in
Lombard
street
west.
Fine
voice
that
fellow
had.
How
Giuglini began.
Smell
that
I did.
Like
flowers.
It
was
too. Violets. Came
from
the
turpentine
probably
in
the paint.
Make
their
own
use
of
everything.
Same
time
doing
it
scraped her
slipper
on
the
floor
so
they
wouldn't hear. But lots
of
them
can't
kick
the beam, I think.
Keep
that
thing
up
for
hours.
Kind
of
a
general
all round
over
me
and
half
down
my back. Wait. Hm. Hm. Yes. That's her perfume.
Why
she
waved her hand. I
leave
you
this
to
think
of
me
when
I'm
far
away
on
the pillow.
What
is
it? Heliotrope? No. Hyacinth? Hm. Roses, I think. She'd
like
scent
of
that
kind.
Sweet
and
cheap:
soon
sour.
Why
Molly
likes opoponax. Suits her,
with
a
little
jessamine
mixed. Her high notes
and
her
low
notes.
At
the dance
night
she
met him, dance
of
the hours.
Heat
brought
it
out.
She
was
wearing her
black
and
it
had the
perfume
of
the
time
before.
Good
conductor,
is
it?
Or
bad?
Light
too.
Suppose
there's
some
connection.
For
instance
if
you
go
into
a
cellar
where
it's dark.
Mysterious
thing
too.
Why
did
I
smell
it
only
now? Took its
time
in
coming
like
herself,
slow
but sure.
Suppose
it's
ever
so
many
millions
of
tiny grains
blown
across. Yes,
it
is.
Because
those
spice
islands, Cinghalese
this
morning,
smell
them
leagues off.
Tell
you
what
it
is. It's
like
a
fine
fine
veil
or
web
they
have
all
over
the skin,
fine
like
what
do
you
call
it
gossamer,
and
they're
always
spinning
it
out
of
them,
fine
as
anything,
like
rainbow
colours without knowing it. Clings
to
everything
she
takes off. Vamp
of
her stockings.
Warm
shoe. Stays. Drawers:
little
kick, taking
them
off. Byby
till
next
time.
Also
the
cat
likes
to
sniff
in
her
shift
on
the bed.
Know
her
smell
in
a
thousand. Bathwater too. Reminds
me
of
strawberries
and
cream.
Wonder
where
it
is
really. There
or
the armpits
or
under the neck.
Because
you
get
it
out
of
all holes
and
corners.
Hyacinth
perfume
made
of
oil
of
ether
or
something. Muskrat.
Bag
under
their
tails.
One
grain
pour
off
odour
for
years. Dogs
at
each
other
behind.
Good
evening. Evening.
How
do
you
sniff? Hm. Hm.
Very
well,
thank
you. Animals
go
by
that.
Yes
now,
look
at
it
that
way. We're the same.
Some
women, instance,
warn
you
off
when
they
have
their
period.
Come
near.
Then
get
a
hogo
you
could
hang
your
hat
on.
Like
what? Potted herrings gone stale or. Boof!
Please
keep
off
the grass.
Perhaps
they
get
a
man
smell
off
us.
What
though? Cigary gloves
long
John had
on
his
desk
the
other
day. Breath?
What
you
eat
and
drink
gives that. No. Mansmell, I mean.
Must
be
connected
with
that
because
priests
that
are
supposed
to
be
are
different. Women buzz round
it
like
flies round treacle. Railed
off
the
altar
get
on
to
it
at
any
cost. The tree
of
forbidden priest. O, father,
will
you?
Let
me
be
the first to.
That
diffuses
itself
all through the body, permeates. Source
of
life.
And
it's extremely
curious
the smell.
Celery
sauce.
Let
me. Mr
Bloom
inserted
his
nose. Hm.
Into
the. Hm.
Opening
of
his
waistcoat. Almonds or. No. Lemons
it
is. Ah no, that's the soap. O
by
the
by
that
lotion. I knew there
was
something
on
my mind.
Never
went
back
and
the
soap
not paid.
Dislike
carrying bottles
like
that
hag
this
morning. Hynes
might
have
paid
me
that
three
shillings. I
could
mention
Meagher's
just
to
remind him.
Still
if
he
works
that
paragraph.
Two
and
nine.
Bad
opinion
of
me
he'll have.
Call
tomorrow.
How
much
do
I
owe
you?
Three
and
nine?
Two
and
nine, sir. Ah.
Might
stop
him
giving
credit
another
time.
Lose
your customers
that
way. Pubs do. Fellows
run
up
a
bill
on
the slate
and
then
slinking
around
the
back
streets
into
somewhere else. Howth.
Bailey
light. Two, four, six, eight, nine. See. Has
to
change
or
they
might
think
it
a
house. Wreckers.
Grace
Darling.
People
afraid
of
the dark.
Also
glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Jewels diamonds flash better. Women.
Light
is
a
kind
of
reassuring. Not going
to
hurt you.
Better
now
of
course
than
long
ago.
Country
roads.
Run
you
through the small guts
for
nothing.
Still
two
types there
are
you
bob
against. Scowl
or
smile. Pardon! Not
at
all.
Best
time
to
spray plants
too
in
the shade
after
the sun.
Some
light
still.
Red
rays
are
longest. Roygbiv Vance taught us: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
A
star I see. Venus? Can't
tell
yet. Two.
When
three
it's night.
Were
those
nightclouds there all the time? Looks
like
a
phantom
ship. No. Wait. Trees
are
they? An optical illusion. Mirage.
Land
of
the
setting
sun
this. Homerule
sun
setting
in
the southeast. My
native
land, goodnight.
Dew
falling.
Bad
for
you, dear,
to
sit
on
that
stone. Brings
on
white
fluxions.
Never
have
little
baby
then
less
he
was
big
strong
fight
his
way
up
through.
Might
get
piles
myself. Sticks
too
like
a
summer
cold,
sore
on
the mouth.
Cut
with
grass
or
paper worst.
Friction
of
the position.
Like
to
be
that
rock
she
sat on. O
sweet
little,
you
don't
know
how
nice
you
looked. I
begin
to
like
them
at
that
age.
Green
apples.
Grab
at
all
that
offer.
Suppose
it's the
only
time
we
cross
legs, seated.
Also
the
library
today:
those
girl
graduates.
Happy
chairs under them. But it's the
evening
influence.
They
feel all that.
Open
like
flowers,
know
their
hours, sunflowers, Jerusalem artichokes,
in
ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. Nightstock
in
Mat
Dillon's
garden
where
I kissed her shoulder.
Wish
I had
a
full
length
oilpainting
of
her then. June
that
was
too
I wooed. The
year
returns.
History
repeats itself.
Ye
crags
and
peaks I'm
with
you
once
again. Life, love,
voyage
round your
own
little
world.
And
now?
Sad
about
her lame
of
course
but
must
be
on
your
guard
not
to
feel
too
much
pity.
They
take
advantage. All
quiet
on
Howth now. The
distant
hills seem.
Where
we. The rhododendrons. I
am
a
fool perhaps.
He
gets the plums,
and
I the plumstones.
Where
I
come
in. All
that
old
hill
has seen. Names change: that's all. Lovers: yum yum. Tired I feel now.
Will
I
get
up? O wait. Drained all the
manhood
out
of
me,
little
wretch.
She
kissed me.
Never
again. My youth.
Only
once
it
comes.
Or
hers.
Take
the
train
there tomorrow. No. Returning not the same.
Like
kids your
second
visit
to
a
house. The
new
I want.
Nothing
new
under the sun.
Care
of
P. O. Dolphin's Barn.
Are
you
not
happy
in
your?
Naughty
darling.
At
Dolphin's
barn
charades
in
Luke
Doyle's house.
Mat
Dillon
and
his
bevy
of
daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty.
Molly
too. Eightyseven
that
was.
Year
before we.
And
the
old
major,
partial
to
his
drop
of
spirits.
Curious
she
an
only
child, I an
only
child.
So
it
returns.
Think
you're escaping
and
run
into
yourself. Longest
way
round
is
the shortest
way
home.
And
just
when
he
and
she.
Circus
horse
walking
in
a
ring.
Rip
van Winkle
we
played. Rip:
tear
in
Henny Doyle's overcoat. Van: breadvan delivering. Winkle: cockles
and
periwinkles.
Then
I
did
Rip
van Winkle coming back.
She
leaned
on
the sideboard watching. Moorish eyes.
Twenty
years
asleep
in
Sleepy
Hollow. All changed. Forgotten. The
young
are
old.
His
gun
rusty
from
the dew.
Then
you
have
a
beautiful
calm
without
a
cloud,
smooth
sea, placid,
crew
and
cargo
in
smithereens, Davy Jones' locker, moon looking
down
so
peaceful. Not my fault,
old
cockalorum. Mr
Bloom
stooped
and
turned
over
a
piece
of
paper
on
the strand.
He
brought
it
near
his
eyes
and
peered. Letter? No. Can't read.
Better
go. Better. I'm tired
to
move.
Page
of
an
old
copybook. All
those
holes
and
pebbles.
Who
could
count
them?
Never
know
what
you
find. Bottle
with
story
of
a
treasure
in
it, thrown
from
a
wreck. Parcels post. Children
always
want
to
throw things
in
the sea. Trust? Bread cast
on
the waters. What's this?
Bit
of
stick. O! Exhausted
that
female
has me. Not
so
young
now.
Will
she
come
here tomorrow?
Wait
for
her somewhere
for
ever.
Must
come
back. Murderers do.
Will
I? Mr
Bloom
with
his
stick
gently
vexed
the
thick
sand
at
his
foot.
Write
a
message
for
her.
Might
remain. What? I.
Some
flatfoot tramp
on
it
in
the morning. Useless. Washed away.
Tide
comes here.
Saw
a
pool
near
her foot. Bend,
see
my face there, dark mirror,
breathe
on
it, stirs. All
these
rocks
with
lines
and
scars
and
letters. O,
those
transparent! Besides
they
don't know.
What
is
the meaning
of
that
other
world. I called
you
naughty
boy
because
I
do
not like. AM. A. No room.
Let
it
go. Mr
Bloom
effaced the letters
with
his
slow
boot. Hopeless
thing
sand.
Nothing
grows
in
it. All fades. No
fear
of
big
vessels coming
up
here.
Except
Guinness's barges. Round the Kish
in
eighty
days. Done half
by
design.
He
flung
his
wooden
pen away. The
stick
fell
in
silted sand, stuck.
Now
if
you
were
trying
to
do
that
for
a
week
on
end
you
couldn't. Chance. We'll
never
meet again. But
it
was
lovely. Goodbye, dear. Thanks.
Made
me
feel
so
young.
Short
snooze
now
if
I had.
Must
be
near
nine. Liverpool
boat
long
gone.. Not
even
the smoke.
And
she
can
do
the other.
Did
too.
And
Belfast. I won't go.
Race
there,
race
back
to
Ennis.
Let
him.
Just
close my eyes
a
moment. Won't sleep, though. Half dream.
It
never
comes the same.
Bat
again. No
harm
in
him.
Just
a
few.
A
bat
flew. Here. There. Here.
Far
in
the grey
a
bell chimed. Mr
Bloom
with
open
mouth,
his
left
boot
sanded sideways, leaned, breathed.
Just
for
a
few
The clock
on
the mantelpiece
in
the priest's
house
cooed
where
Canon
O'Hanlon
and
Father Conroy
and
the
reverend
John Hughes S. J.
were
taking
tea
and
sodabread
and
butter
and
fried
mutton
chops
with
catsup
and
talking
about
Because
it
was
a
little
canarybird
that
came
out
of
its
little
house
to
tell
the
time
that
Gerty MacDowell noticed the
time
she
was
there
because
she
was
as
quick
as
anything
about
a
thing
like
that,
was
Gerty MacDowell,
and
she
noticed
at
once
that
that
foreign
gentleman
that
was
sitting
on
the rocks looking
was