Bloom.
On her flower frowning Miss Douce said:
—Most aggravating that young brat is. If he doesn’t conduct himself I'll wring his ear for him a yard long.
Ladylike in exquisite contrast.
—Take no notice, Miss Kennedy rejoined.
She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their teas to draw. They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two and seven.
Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofs ring from afar, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel.
—Am I awfully sunburnt?
Miss bronze unbloused her neck.
—No, said Miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you try the borax with the cherry laurel water?
Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their midst a shell.
—And leave it to my hands, she said.
—Try it with the glycerine, Miss Kennedy advised.
Bidding her neck and hands adieu Miss Douce
—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. I asked that old fogey in Boyd’s for something for my skin.
Miss Kennedy, pouring now fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed:
—O, don’t remind me of him for mercy'sake!
—But wait till I tell you, Miss Douce entreated.
Sweet tea Miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers.
—No, don't, she cried.
—I won't listen, she cried.
But Bloom?
Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone:
—For your what? says he.
Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but said, but prayed again:
—Don’t let me think of him or I’ll expire. The hideous old wretch! That night in the Antient Concert Rooms.
