Bennett? He’s my pal. I love old Bennett.
The galling chain.
And free our native land.
(He staggers forward, dragging them with him. Bloom stops, at fault.
The dog approaches, his tongue outlolling, panting.)
Wildgoose chase this. Disorderly houses. Lord knows where they are
gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene at Westland
row. Then jump in first class with third ticket. Then too far. Train with
engine behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the night or
collision. Second drink does it. Once is a dose. What am I following him for?
Still, he’s the best of that lot. If I hadn’t heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy
I wouldn’t have gone and wouldn’t have met. Kismet. He’ll lose that cash.
Relieving office here. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. What do ye lack?
Soon got, soon gone. Might have lost my life too with that mangong-
wheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. Can’t always save
you, though. If I had passed Truelock’s window that day two minutes later
would have been shot. Absence of body. Still if bullet only went through my
coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds. What was he? Kildare street
club toff. God help his gamekeeper.
(He gazes ahead reading on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream
and a phallic design.)
Odd! Molly drawing on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. What’s
that like? (Gaudy dollwomen loll in the lighted doorways, in window embrasures,
smoking birdseye cigarettes. The odour of the sicksewet weed floats towards him in slow
round ovalling wreaths.)
Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin.
My spine’s a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get all