Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/93

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        Well no, Mr Bloom said. In point of fact I have to go down to the
county Clare on some private business. You see the idea is to tour the chief
towns. What you lose on one you can make up on the other.
        Quite so, Martin Cunningham said. Mary Anderson is up there now.
        Have you good artists?
        Louis Werner is touring her, Mr Bloom said. O yes, we’ll have all
topnobbers. J. C. Doyle and John MacCormack I hope and. The best, in fact.
        And Madame, Mr Power said, smiling. Last but not least.
       Mr Bloom unclasped his hands in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped
them. Smith O’Brien. Someone has laid a bunch of flowers there. Woman.
Must be his deathday. For many happy returns. The carriage wheeling by
Farrell’s statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.
       Oot : a dullgarbed old man from the curbstone tendered his wares, his
mouth opening : oot.
        Four bootlaces for a penny.
       Wonder why he was struck off the rolls. Had his office in Hume street.
Same house as Molly’s namesake. Tweedy, crown solicitor for Waterford.
Has that silk hat ever since. Relics of old decency. Mourning too. Terrible
comedown, poor wretch! kicked about like snuff at a wake. O’Callaghan
on his last legs.
       And Madame. Twenty past eleven. Up. Mrs Fleming is in to clean.
Doing her hair, humming : voglio e non vorrei. No : vorrei e non. Looking at
the tips of her hairs to see if they are split. Mi trema un poco il. Beautiful on
that tre her voice is : weeping tone. A thrush. A throstle. There is a word
throstle that expresses that.
       His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power’s goodlooking face. Greyish over
the ears. Madame : smiling. I smiled back. A smile does a long way. Only
politeness perhaps. Nice fellow. Who knows is that true about the woman he
keeps? Not pleasant for the wife. Yet they say, who was it told me, there is
no carnal. You would imagine that would get played out pretty quick. Yes,
it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a pound of rumpsteak.
What is this she was? Barmaid in Jury’s. Or the Moira, was it?
       They passed under the hugecloaked Liberator’s form.
       Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power.
        Of the tribe of Reuben, he said.
       A tall blackbearded figure, bent on a stick, stumping round the corner of
Elvery’s elephant house showed them a curved hand open on his spine.