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member me to Molly, won’t you?
—I will, Mr Bloom said.
He watched her dodge through passers towards the shop-
fronts. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas
shoes shuffled out of Harrison’s hugging two heavy tomes
to his ribs. Blown in from the bay. Like old times. He suf-
fered her to overtake him without surprise and thrust his
dull grey beard towards her, his loose jaw wagging as he
spoke earnestly.
Meshuggah. Off his chump.
Mr Bloom walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him
in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the dangling stickumbrel-
ladustcoat. Going the two days. Watch him! Out he goes
again. One way of getting on in the world. And that other
old mosey lunatic in those duds. Hard time she must have
with him.
U.P.: up. I’ll take my oath that’s Alf Bergan or Richie
Goulding. Wrote it for a lark in the Scotch house I bet any-
thing. Round to Menton’s office. His oyster eyes staring at
the postcard. Be a feast for the gods.
He passed the Irish Times. There might be other an-
swers Iying there. Like to answer them all. Good system for
criminals. Code. At their lunch now. Clerk with the glass-
es there doesn’t know me. O, leave them there to simmer.
Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them. Want-
ed, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in literary work. I
called you naughty darling because I do not like that other
world. Please tell me what is the meaning. Please tell me
what perfume does your wife. Tell me who made the world.