#211 K.M.R.I.A

#211 K.M.R.I.A

K.M.R.I.A. —He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder. Any time he likes, tell him. While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode on...
#210 K.M.A.

#210 K.M.A.

K.M.A. —Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? Myles Crawford said throwing out his arm for emphasis. Tell him that straight from the stable. A bit nervy. Look out for squalls. All off for a drink. Arm in arm. Lenehan’s yachting cap on the cadge beyond. Usual blarney....
#209 INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR

#209 INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR

INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR —Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps, puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. He’ll give a renewal for two months, he says. After he’ll see. But he wants a par to call...
#208 RETURN OF BLOOM

#208 RETURN OF BLOOM

RETURN OF BLOOM —Yes, he said. I see them. Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near the offices of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: —Mr Crawford! A moment! —Telegraph! Racing special! —What is it? Myles Crawford said, falling...
#207 LIFE ON THE RAW

#207 LIFE ON THE RAW

LIFE ON THE RAW —They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and four slices of panloaf at the north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress… They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a girl at the foot of Nelson’s pillar to take...
#206 DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

#206 DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN Dubliners. —Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally’s lane. —Where is that? the professor asked. —Off Blackpitts, Stephen said. Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Against the wall. Face...