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was never touched. Fifteen. There’s no-one in it only her old
father that’s dead drunk.
(She points. In the gap of her dark den furtive, rainbedrag-
gled, Bridie Kelly stands.)
BRIDIE: Hatch street. Any good in your mind?
(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly
rough pursues with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps,
recovers, plunges into gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are
heard, weaker.)
THE BAWD: (Her wolfeyes shining) He’s getting his
pleasure. You won’t get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten
shillings. Don’t be all night before the polis in plain clothes
sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch.
(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. She draws from
behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)
GERTY: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (She
murmurs) You did that. I hate you.
BLOOM: I? When? You’re dreaming. I never saw you.
THE BAWD: Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat.
Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and so-
liciting. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the
bedpost, hussy like you.
GERTY: (To Bloom) When you saw all the secrets of my
bottom drawer. (She paws his sleeve, slobbering) Dirty mar-
ried man! I love you for doing that to me.
(She glides away crookedly. Mrs Breen in man’s frieze
overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands in the causeway,
her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling in all her herbivorous
buckteeth.)