(bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to the edge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern, silksocked. bloom, stifflegged ageing, bends over her hoof and with gentle fingers draws out and in her laces.)bloom (murmurs lovingly.) to be a shoefitter in mansfield's was my love's young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly small, of clyde road ladies. even their wax model raymonde i visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick 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. nook 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 mid-brow. his eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens.)bloom (mumbles.) awaiting your further orders, we remain, 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.) magnificence.
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.) truffles!
(with a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his feet, then lies, shamming dead with eyes shut tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of most excellent master.)bello (with bobbed hair purple gills, fat moustache rings round his shaven mouth, in mountaineer's puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with moor cock's feather, his hands stuck deep in his breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in.) feel my entire weight. bow, bondslave, before the throne of your despot's glorious heels, so glistening in their proud erectness.