The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 067
his water flow quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and
received payment of three pounds thirteen and six.
Might manage a sketch. By Mr and Mrs L. M. Bloom. Invent a story for
some proverb which? Time I used to try jotting down on my cuff what she
said dressing. Dislike dressing together. Nicked myself shaving. Biting her
nether lip, hooking the placket of her skirt. Timing her. 9.15. Did Roberts
pay you yet? 9.20. What had Gretta Conroy on? 9.23. What possessed me to
buy this comb? 9.24. I’m swelled after that cabbage. A speck of dust on the
patent leather of her boot.
Rubbing smartly in turn each welt against her stocking calf. Morning
after the bazaar dance when May’s band played Ponchielli’s dance of the hours.
Explain that morning hours, noon, then evening coming on, then night
hours. Washing her teeth. That was the first night. Her head dancing. Her
fansticks clicking. Is that Boylan well off? He has money. Why? I noticed he
had a good smell off his breath dancing. No use humming then. Allude to it.
Strange kind of music that last night. The mirror was in shadow. She rubbed
her handglass briskly on her woollen vest against her full wagging bub. Peering
into it. Lines in her eyes. It wouldn’t pan out somehow.
Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then black with daggers
and eyemasks. Poetical idea pink, then golden, then grey, then black. Still true
to life also. Day, then the night.
He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it.
Then he girded up his trousers, braced and buttoned himself. He pulled back
the jerky shaky door of the jakes and came forth from the gloom into the air.
In the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he eyed carefully his
black trousers, the ends, the knees, the houghs of the knees. What time is the
funeral? Better find out in the paper.
A creak and a dark whirr in the air high up. The bells of George’s church.
They tolled the hour : loud dark iron.
- Heigho! Heigho!
- Heigho! Heigho!
- Heigho! Heigho!
Quarter to. There again : the overtone following through the air. A
third.
Poor Dignam!