Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/151

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148
 

Kansell, sold by Hely’s Ltd, 85 Dame Street. Well out of that ruck I am.
Devil of a job it was collecting accounts of those convents. Tranquilla convent.
That was a nice nun there, really sweet face. Wimple suited her small head.
Sister? Sister? I am sure she was crossed in love by her eyes. Very hard to
bargain with that sort of woman. I disturbed her at her devotions that morning.
But glad to communicate with the outside world. Our great day, she said. Feast
of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Sweet name too : caramel. She knew, I think she
knew by the way she. If she had married she would have changed. I suppose
they really were short of money. Fried everything in the best butter all the
same. No lard for them. My heart’s broke eating dripping. They like buttering
themselves in and out. Molly tasting it, her veil up. Sister? Pat Claffey, the
pawnbroker’s daughter. It was a nun they say invented barbed wire.
       He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Rover
cycleshop. Those races are on today. How long ago is that? Year Phil Gilligan
died. We were in Lombard street west. Wait, was in Thom’s. Got the job in
Wisdom Hely’s year we married. Six years. Ten years ago : ninetyfour he died,
yes that’s right, the big fire at Arnott’s. Val Dillon was lord mayor. The
Glencree dinner. Alderman Robert O’Reilly emptying the port into his soup
before the flag fell, Bobbob lapping it for the inner alderman. Couldn’t hear
what the band played. For what we have already received may the Lord
make us. Milly was a kiddy then. Molly had that elephantgrey dress with the
braided frogs. Mantailored with selcovered buttons. She didn’t like it because I
sprained my ankle first day she wore choir picnic at the Sugarloaf. As if that. Old
Goodwin’s tall hat done up with some sticky stuff. Flies’ picnic too. Never put a
dress on her back like it. Fitted her like a glove, shoulder and hips. Just beginning
to plump it out well. Rabbit pie we had that day. People looking after her.
       Happy. Happier then. Snug little room that was with the red wallpaper,
Dockrell’s, one and ninepence a dozen. Milly’s tubbing night. American soap
I bought : elderflower. Cosy smell of her bathwater. Funny she looked soaped
all over. Shapely too. Now photography. Poor papa’s daguerrotype atelier he
told me of. Hereditary taste.
       He walked along the curbstone.
       Stream of life. What was the name of that priestylooking chap was always
squinting in when he passed? Weak eyes, woman. Stopped in Citron’s saint
Kevin’s parade. Pen something. Pendennis? My memory is getting. Pen...?
of course it’s years ago. Noise of the trams probably. Well, if he couldn’t
remember the dayfather’s name that he sees every day.