pockets. Like that haughty creature at the polo match. Women all for caste
till you touch the spot. Handsome is and handsome does. Reserved about to
yield. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man. Possess her
once take the starch out of her.
— I was with Bob Doran, he’s on one of his periodical bends, and what
do you call him Bantam Lyons. Just down there in Conway’s we were.
Doran, Lyons in Conway’s. She raised a gloved hand to her hair. In
came Hoppy. Having a wet. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneath
his vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the glare, the braided
drums. Clearly I can see today. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps.
Talking of one thing or another. Lady’s hand. Which side will she get up?
— And he said : Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! What Paddy?
I said. Poor little Paddy Dignam, he said.
Off to the country : Broadstone probably. High brown boots with laces
dangling. Well turned foot. What is he fostering over that change for? Sees
me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Two strings to
her bow.
— Why? I said. What’s wrong with him? I said.
Proud : rich : silk stockings.
— Yes, Mr Bloom said.
He moved a little to the side of M’Coy’s talking head. Getting up in a
minute.
— What’s wrong with him, he said. He’s dead, he said. And, faith, he
filled up. Is it Paddy Dignam? I said. I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. I
was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it in the Arch. Yes,
he said. He’s gone. He died on Monday, poor fellow.
Watch! Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!
A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.
Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and
the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace
street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the
display of. Esprit de corps. Well, what are you gaping at?
— Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone.
— One of the best, M’Coy said.
The tram passed. They drove off towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich
gloved hand on the steel grip. Flicker, flicker : the laceflare of her hat in the
sun : flicker, flick.