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feathered in war panoply with his assegai, striding through a
crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns) Hot! Hot!
Ware Sitting Bull!
BLOOM: It overpowers me. The warm impress of her
warm form. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially
with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last favours,
most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen
coatpans. So womanly, full. It fills me full.
THE WATERFALL:
Phillaphulla Poulaphouca
Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.
THE YEWS: Ssh! Sister, speak!
THE NYMPH: (Eyeless, in nun’s white habit, coif and
hugewinged wimple, softly, with remote eyes) Tranquilla
convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel. The apparitions of
Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. (She reclines her head,
sighing) Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull
waves o’er the waters dull.
(Bloom half rises. His back trouserbutton snaps.)
THE BUTTON: Bip!
(Two sluts of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yell-
ing flatly.)
THE SLUTS:
O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers
He didn’t know what to do,
To keep it up,
To keep it up.