-- he is, says joe. isn't he?
-- who? says bloom. ah, yes. that's quite true. yes, a kind of summer tour, you see. just a holiday.
-- mrs b. is the bright particular star, isn't she? says joe.
-- my wife? says bloom. she's singing, yes. i think it will be a success too. he's an excellent man to organise. excellent.
hoho begob, says i to myself, says i. that explains the milk in the cocoanut and absence of hair on the animal's chest. blazes doing the tootle on the flute. concert tour. dirty dan the dodger's son off island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the boers. old whatwhat. i called about the poor and water rate, mr boylan. you what? the water rate, mr boylan. you whatwhat? that's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip. 'twixt me and you caddereesh.
pride of calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of tweedy. there grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. the gardens of alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. the chaste spouse of leopold is she: marion of the bountiful bosoms.
and lo, there entered one of the clan of the o'molloys, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of lambert.
-- hello, ned.
-- hello, alf.
-- hello, jack.
-- hello, joe.
-- god save you, says the citizen.
-- save you kindly, says j. j. what'll it be, ned?
-- half one, says ned.
so j. j. ordered the drinks.
-- were you round at the court? says joe.
-- yes, says j. j. he'll square that, ned, says he.
-- hope so, says ned.
now what were those two at? j. j. getting him off the grand jury list and the other give him a leg over the stile. with his name in stubbs's. playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, drinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. pawning his gold watch in cummins of francis street where no-one would know him in the private office when i was there with pisser releasing his boots out of the pop. what's your name, sir? dunne, says he. ay, and done, says i. gob, ye'll come home by weeping cross one of these days, i'm thinking.