Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/72

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69
 

blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lovely spot it must
be : the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery
meads, snaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it like that. Those Cinghalese
lobbing around in the sun, in dolce far niente. Not doing a hand’s turn all day.
Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to quarrel. Influence of the climate.
Lethargy. Flowers of idleness. The air feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic
gardens. Sensitive plants. Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in
the air. Walk on roseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where
was the chap I saw in that picture somewhere? Ah, in the dead sea, floating on
his back, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldn’t sink if you tried : so
thick with salt. Because the weight of the water, no, the weight of the body in
the water is equal to the weight of the. Or is it the volume is equal to the
weight? It’s a law something like that. Vance in High school cracking his
fingerjoints, teaching. The college curriculum. Cracking curriculum. What is
weight really when you say the weight? Thirtytwo feet per second, per second.
Law of falling bodies : per second, per second. They all fall to the ground.
The earth. It’s the force of gravity of the earth is the weight.
       He turned away and sauntered across the road. How did she walk with
her sausages? Like that something. As he walked he took the folded Freeman
from his sidepocket, unfolded it, rolled it lengthwise in a baton and tapped it at
each sauntering step against his trouserleg. Careless air : just drop in to see.
Per second, per second. Per second for every second it means. From the
curbstone he darted a keen glance through the door of the postoffice. Too late
box. Post here. No-one. In.
       He handed the card through the brass grill.
        Are there any letters for me? he asked.
       While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the recruiting
poster with soldiers of all arms on parade : and held the tip of his baton against
his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. No answer probably. Went too
far last time.
       The postmistress handed him back through the grill his card with a letter.
He thanked and glanced rapidly at the typed envelope.

                                                Henry Flower, Esq,
                                                          c/o P. O. Westland Row,
                                                                             City.