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(His clenched fist at his brow) Think what it means. All you
meant to me then. (Hoarsely) Woman, it’s breaking me!
(Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with Wisdom Hely’s sand-
wichboards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his dull
beard thrust out, muttering to right and left. Little Alf Ber-
gan, cloaked in the pall of the ace of spades, dogs him to left
and right, doubled in laughter.)
ALF BERGAN: (Points jeering at the sandwichboards) U.
p: Up.
MRS BREEN: (To Bloom) High jinks below stairs. (She
gives him the glad eye) Why didn’t you kiss the spot to make
it well? You wanted to.
BLOOM: (Shocked) Molly’s best friend! Could you?
MRS BREEN: (Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a
pigeon kiss) Hnhn. The answer is a lemon. Have you a little
present for me there?
BLOOM: (Offhandedly) Kosher. A snack for supper. The
home without potted meat is incomplete. I was at Leah. Mrs
Bandmann Palmer. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.
Unfortunately threw away the programme. Rattling good
place round there for pigs’ feet. Feel.
(Richie Goulding, three ladies’ hats pinned on his head,
appears weighted to one side by the black legal bag of Col-
lis and Ward on which a skull and crossbones are painted in
white limewash. He opens it and shows it full of polonies, kip-
pered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.)
RICHIE: Best value in Dub.
(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands on the curbstone, fold-
ing his napkin, waiting to wait.)