the nymph
(With a cry, flees from him unveiled, her plaster cast cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks.) Poli…!
bloom
(Calls after her.) As if you didn’t get it on the double yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you. I tried it. Your strength our weakness. What’s our studfee? What will you pay on the nail? You fee men dancers on the Riviera, I read. (The fleeing nymph raises a keen.) Eh! I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. And would a jury give me five shillings alimony to morrow, eh? Fool someone else, not me. (He sniffs.) But, Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease.
bella
You’ll know me the next time.
bloom
(Composed, regards her.) Passée. Mutton dressed as lamb. Lone in the tooth and superfluous hairs. A raw onion the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. And take some double chin drill. Your eyes are as vapid as the glass eyes of your stuffed fox. They have the dimensions of your other features, that’s all. I’m not a triple screw propeller.
bella
(Contemptuously.) You’re not game, in fact. (Her sowcunt barks.) Fohracht!
bloom
(Contemptuously.) Clean your nailless middle finger first, the cold spunk o your bully is dripping from your cockscomb. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.
bella
I know you, canvasser! Dead cod!
bloom
I saw him, kipkeeper! Pox and gleet vendor!
