(Communes with the night.) Face reminds me of his poor mother. In the
shady wood. The deep white breast. Ferguson, I think I caught. A girl. Some
girl. Best thing could happen him... (He murmurs.)... swear that I will always
hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any part or parts, art or arts... (He murmurs.)...
in the rough sands of the sea... a cabletow’s length from the shore... where
the tide ebbs... and flows...
(Silent, thoughtful, alert, he stands on guard, his fingers at his lips in
the attitude of secret master. Against the dark wall a figure appears
slowly, a fairy boy of eleven, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in an
Eton suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding a book
in his hand. He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling, kissing the
(Wonderstruck, calls inaudibly.) Rudy!
(Gazes unseeing into Bloom’s eyes and goes on reading, kissing, smiling.
He has a delicate mauve face. On his suit he has diamond and ruby
buttons. In his free left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a violet
bowknot. A white lambskin peeps out of his waistcoat pocket.)