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(J. J. O’Molloy steps on to a low plinth and holds the lapel
of his coat with solemnity. His face lengthens, grows pale and
bearded, with sunken eyes, the blotches of phthisis and hec-
tic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. He applies his handkerchief
to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink
blood.)
J.J.O’MOLLOY: (Almost voicelessly) Excuse me. I am
suffering from a severe chill, have recently come from a
sickbed. A few wellchosen words. (He assumes the avine
head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour
Bushe.) When the angel’s book comes to be opened if aught
that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured
and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the
prisoner at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt. (A paper
with something written on it is handed into court.)
BLOOM: (In court dress) Can give best references.
Messrs Callan, Coleman. Mr Wisdom Hely J. P. My old
chief Joe Cuffe. Mr V. B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. I
have moved in the charmed circle of the highest ... Queens
of Dublin society. (Carelessly) I was just chatting this after-
noon at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir Robert and
lady Ball, astronomer royal at the levee. Sir Bob, I said ...
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (In lowcorsaged opal ball-
dress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a sabletrimmed
brickquilted dolman, a comb of brilliants and panache of
osprey in her hair) Arrest him, constable. He wrote me an
anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband
was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the Munster cir-
cuit, signed James Lovebirch. He said that he had seen from