kind of admiration for a man who had actually brandished a knife, cold steel,
with the courage of his political convictions though, personally, he would
never be a party to any such thing, off the same bat as those love vendettas of
the south — have her or swing for her — when the husband frequently, after
some words passed between the two concerning her relations with the other
lucky mortal (he man having had the pair watched) inflicted fatal injuries on his
adored one as a result of an alternative postnuptial liaison by plunging his
knife into her until it just struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-the-Goat,
merely drove the car for the actual perpetrators of the outrage and so was
not, if he was reliably informed, actually party to the ambush which,
in point of fact, was the plea some legal luminary saved his skin on. In
any case that was very ancient history by now and as for our friend, the
pseudo Skin-the-etcetera, he had transparently outlived his welcome. He
ought to have either died naturally or on the scaffold high. Like actresses,
always farewell — positively last performance — then come up smiling
again. Generous to a fault, of course, temperamental, no economising
or any idea of the sort, always snapping at the bone for the shadow. So
similarly he had a very shrewd suspicion that Mr Johnny Lever got rid of
some £. s. d. in the course of his perambulations round the docks in the
congenial atmosphere of the Old Ireland tavern, come back to Erin and so on.
Then as for the others, he had heard not so long before the same identical lingo,
as he told Stephen how he simply but effectually silenced the offender.
— He took umbrage at something or other, that muchinjured but on the whole eventempored person declared, I let slip. He called me a jew, and in a heated fashion, offensively. So I, without deviating from plain facts in the least, told him his God, I mean Christ, was a jew too, and all his family, like me, though in reality I’m not. That was one for him. A soft answer turns away wrath. He hadn’t a word to say for himself as everyone saw. Am I not right?
He turned a long you are wrong gaze on Stephen of timorous dark pride at the soft impeachment, with a glance also of entreaty for he seemed to glean in a kind of a way that it wasn’t all exactly...
— Ex quibus, Stephen mumbled in a noncommittal accent, their two or four eyes conversing, Christus or Bloom his name is, or, after all, any other, secundum carnem.
— Of course, Mr Bloom proceeded to stipulate, you must look at both sides of the question. It is hard to lay down any hard and fast rules as to right
