engaged. Circumstances alter cases. (He gazes intently downwards on the water.) Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Press nightmare. Giddy Elijah. Fall from cliff. Sad end of government printer’s clerk. (Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, rolled in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the Lion’s Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.)
the dummymummy
Bbbbblllllbbbbblblobschbg!
councillor nannetti
(Alone on deck, in dark alpaca, yellow kitefaced, his hand in his waistcoat, opening, declaims.) When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have…
bloom
Done. Prff!
the nymph
(Loftily.) We immortals, as you saw today have not such a place and no hair there either. We are stonecold and pure. We eat electric light. (She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her mouth.) Spoke to me. Heard from behind. How then could you…?
bloom
(Pacing the heather abjectly.) O, I have been a perfect pig. Enemas too, I have administered. One third of a pint of quassia, to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Up the fundament. With Hamilton Long’s syringe, the ladies’ friend.
the nymph
In my presence. The powderpuff. (She blushes and makes a knee.) And the rest.
bloom
(Dejected.) Yes. Peccavi! I have paid homage on that living altar where the
