Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/152

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149
 

       Bartell d’Arcy was the tenor, just coming out then. Seeing her home after
practice. Conceited fellow with his waxedup moustache. Gave her that song
Winds that blow from the south.
       Windy night that was I went to fetch her there was that lodge meeting on
about those lottery tickets after Goodwin’s concert in the supper room or
oakroom of the mansion house. He and I behind. Sheet of her music blew
out of my hand against the high school railings. Lucky it didn’t. Thing like that
spoils the effect of a night for her. Professor Goodwin linking her in front. Shaky
on his pins, poor old sot. His farewell concerts. Positively last appearance on any
stage. May be for months and may be for never. Remember her laughing at the
wind, her blizzard collar up. Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust?
Brrfoo! Blew up all her skirts and her boa nearly smothered old Goodwin. She
did get flushed in the wind. Remember when we got home raking up the fire
and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her supper with the Chutney
sauce she liked. And the mulled rum. Could see her in the bedroom from the
hearth unclamping the busk of her stays. White.
       Swish and soft flop her stays made on the bed. Always warm from her.
Always liked to let herself out. Sitting there after till near two, taking out her
hairpins. Milly tucked up in beddyhouse. Happy. Happy. That was the night…
        O, Mr Bloom, how do you do?
        Oh, how do you do, Mrs Breen?
        No use complaining. How is Molly those times? Haven’t seen her for ages.
        In the pink, Mr Bloom said gaily, Milly has a position down in
Mullingar, you know.
        Go away! Isn’t that grand for her?
        Yes, in a photographer’s there. Getting on like a house on fire. How are
all your charges?
        All on the baker’s list, Mrs Breen said.
       How many has she? No other in sight.
        You’re in black I see. You have no...
        No, Mr Bloom said. I have just come from a funeral.
       Going to crop up all day, I foresee. Who’s dead, when and what did he
die of? Turn up like a bad penny.
        O dear me, Mrs Breen said, I hope it wasn’t any near relation.
       May as well get her sympathy.
        Dignam, Mr Bloom said. An old friend of mine. He died quite suddenly,
poor fellow. Heart trouble, I believe. Funeral was this morning.