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bloom
Not I!
zoe
You both in black. Has little mousey any tickles tonight?
(His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. A hand slides over his left thigh.)
zoe
How’s the nuts?
bloom
Off side. Curiously they are on the right. Heavier I suppose. One in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.
zoe
(In sudden alarm.) You’ve a hard chancre.
bloom
Not likely.
zoe
I feel it.
(Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a hard black shrivelled potato. She regards it and Bloom with dumb moist lips )
bloom
A talisman. Heirloom.
zoe
For Zoe? For keeps? For being so nice, eh?
(She puts the potato greedily into a pocket, then links his arm, cuddling him with supple warmth. He smiles uneasily. Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played. He gazes in the tawny crystal of her eyes, ringed with kohol. His smile softens.)
zoe
You’ll know me the next time.