Ulysses
PAT: (Advances with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy)
Steak and kidney. Bottle of lager. Hee hee hee. Wait till I
wait.
RICHIE: Goodgod. Inev erate inall ...
(With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. The
navvy, lurching by, gores him with his flaming pronghorn.)
RICHIE: (With a cry of pain, his hand to his back) Ah!
Bright’s! Lights!
BLOOM: (Ooints to the navvy) A spy. Don’t attract atten-
tion. I hate stupid crowds. I am not on pleasure bent. I am
in a grave predicament.
MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual
with your cock and bull story.
BLOOM: I want to tell you a little secret about how I
came to be here. But you must never tell. Not even Molly. I
have a most particular reason.
MRS BREEN: (All agog) O, not for worlds.
BLOOM: Let’s walk on. Shall us?
MRS BREEN: Let’s.
(The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Bloom walks on with
Mrs Breen. The terrier follows, whining piteously, wagging
his tail.)
THE BAWD: Jewman’s melt!
BLOOM: (In an oatmeal sporting suit, a sprig of woodbine
in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd’s plaid Saint Andrew’s
cross scarftie, white spats, fawn dustcoat on his arm, taw-
ny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a grey billycock
hat) Do you remember a long long time, years and years
ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was weaned