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Mr Bloom, champing, standing, looked upon his sigh.
Nosey numbskull. Will I tell him that horse Lenehan? He
knows already. Better let him forget. Go and lose more. Fool
and his money. Dewdrop coming down again. Cold nose
he’d have kissing a woman. Still they might like. Prickly
beards they like. Dogs’ cold noses. Old Mrs Riordan with
the rumbling stomach’s Skye terrier in the City Arms hotel.
Molly fondling him in her lap. O, the big doggybowwowsy-
wowsy!
Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread mustard
a moment mawkish cheese. Nice wine it is. Taste it better
because I’m not thirsty. Bath of course does that. Just a bite
or two. Then about six o’clock I can. Six. Six. Time will be
gone then. She ...
Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. I wanted that badly.
Felt so off colour. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins:
sardines, gaudy lobsters’ claws. All the odd things people
pick up for food. Out of shells, periwinkles with a pin, off
trees, snails out of the ground the French eat, out of the sea
with bait on a hook. Silly fish learn nothing in a thousand
years. If you didn’t know risky putting anything into your
mouth. Poisonous berries. Johnny Magories. Roundness
you think good. Gaudy colour warns you off. One fellow
told another and so on. Try it on the dog first. Led on by
the smell or the look. Tempting fruit. Ice cones. Cream. In-
stinct. Orangegroves for instance. Need artificial irrigation.
Bleibtreustrasse. Yes but what about oysters. Unsightly like
a clot of phlegm. Filthy shells. Devil to open them too. Who
found them out? Garbage, sewage they feed on. Fizz and