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of rhubarb toe, as worn in Paris.
THE HOOF: Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal
weight.
BLOOM: (Crosslacing) Too tight?
THE HOOF: If you bungle, Handy Andy, I’ll kick your
football for you.
BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night
of the bazaar dance. Bad luck. Hook in wrong tache of her
... person you mentioned. That night she met ... Now!
(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor.
Bloom raises his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in
midbrow. His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his nose
thickens.)
BLOOM: (Mumbles) Awaiting your further orders we re-
main, gentlemen, ...
BELLO: (With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice)
Hound of dishonour!
BLOOM: (Infatuated) Empress!
BELLO: (His heavy cheekchops sagging) Adorer of the
adulterous rump!
BLOOM: (Plaintively) Hugeness!
BELLO: Dungdevourer!
BLOOM: (With sinews semiflexed) Magmagnificence!
BELLO: Down! (He taps her on the shoulder with his fan)
Incline feet forward! Slide left foot one pace back! You will
fall. You are falling. On the hands down!
BLOOM: (Her eyes upturned in the sign of admiration,
closing, yaps) Truffles!
(With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunt-