0 Ulysses
MRS BREEN: Mr ...
BLOOM: (Coughs gravely) Madam, when we last had this
pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant ...
MRS BREEN: Mr Bloom! You down here in the haunts
of sin! I caught you nicely! Scamp!
BLOOM: (Hurriedly) Not so loud my name. Whatever
do you think of me? Don’t give me away. Walls have ears.
How do you do? It’s ages since I. You’re looking splendid.
Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are having this time
of year. Black refracts heat. Short cut home here. Interesting
quarter. Rescue of fallen women. Magdalen asylum. I am
the secretary ...
MRS BREEN: (Holds up a finger) Now, don’t tell a big
fib! I know somebody won’t like that. O just wait till I see
Molly! (Slily) Account for yourself this very sminute or woe
betide you!
BLOOM: (Looks behind) She often said she’d like to vis-
it. Slumming. The exotic, you see. Negro servants in livery
too if she had money. Othello black brute. Eugene Stratton.
Even the bones and cornerman at the Livermore christies.
Bohee brothers. Sweep for that matter.
(Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits,
scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet as-
ters in their buttonholes, leap out. Each has his banjo slung.
Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang
wires. Flashing white Kaffir eyes and tusks they rattle through
a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back to back,
toe heel, heel toe, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.)
TOM AND SAM: