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eyes glitter.)
THE FAN: (Flirting quickly, then slowly) Married, I see.
BLOOM: Yes. Partly, I have mislaid ...
THE FAN: (Half opening, then closing) And the missus is
master. Petticoat government.
BLOOM: (Looks down with a sheepish grin) That is so.
THE FAN: (Folding together, rests against her left ear-
drop) Have you forgotten me?
BLOOM: Yes. Yo.
THE FAN: (Folded akimbo against her waist) Is me her
was you dreamed before? Was then she him you us since
knew? Am all them and the same now we?
(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan.)
BLOOM: (Wincing) Powerful being. In my eyes read that
slumber which women love.
THE FAN: (Tapping) We have met. You are mine. It is
fate.
BLOOM: (Cowed) Exuberant female. Enormously I de-
siderate your domination. I am exhausted, abandoned, no
more young. I stand, so to speak, with an unposted letter
bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of
the general postoffice of human life. The door and window
open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per
second according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt
this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. It
runs in our family. Poor dear papa, a widower, was a regu-
lar barometer from it. He believed in animal heat. A skin of
tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the end, remember-
ing king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with