Ulysses
—He has, Father Cowley said.
—Then our friend’s writ is not worth the paper it’s print-
ed on, Ben Dollard said. The landlord has the prior claim.
I gave him all the particulars. 29 Windsor avenue. Love is
the name?
—That’s right, Father Cowley said. The reverend Mr
Love. He’s a minister in the country somewhere. But are
you sure of that?
—You can tell Barabbas from me, Ben Dollard said, that
he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.
He led Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his
bulk.
—Filberts I believe they were, Mr Dedalus said, as he
dropped his glasses on his coatfront, following them.* * * * *
—The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham
said, as they passed out of the Castleyard gate.
The policeman touched his forehead.
—God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, cheerily.
He signed to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the reins
and set on towards Lord Edward street.
Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy’s head by Miss Douce’s
head, appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel.
—Yes, Martin Cunningham said, fingering his beard.
I wrote to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before
him.
—You could try our friend, Mr Power suggested back-
ward.