1 Ulysses
He poked Mr O’Madden Burke mildly in the spleen.
Mr O’Madden Burke fell back with grace on his umbrella,
feigning a gasp.
—Help! he sighed. I feel a strong weakness.
Lenehan, rising to tiptoe, fanned his face rapidly with
the rustling tissues.
The professor, returning by way of the files, swept his
hand across Stephen’s and Mr O’Madden Burke’s loose
ties.
—Paris, past and present, he said. You look like commu-
nards.
—Like fellows who had blown up the Bastile, J. J.
O’Molloy said in quiet mockery. Or was it you shot the lord
lieutenant of Finland between you? You look as though you
had done the deed. General Bobrikoff.OMNIUM GATHERUM—We were only thinking about it, Stephen said.
—All the talents, Myles Crawford said. Law, the classics
...
—The turf, Lenehan put in.
—Literature, the press.
—If Bloom were here, the professor said. The gentle art
of advertisement.
—And Madam Bloom, Mr O’Madden Burke added. The
vocal muse. Dublin’s prime favourite.
Lenehan gave a loud cough.
—Ahem! he said very softly. O, for a fresh of breath air! I