#174 SHORT BUT TO THE POINT

#174 SHORT BUT TO THE POINT

SHORT BUT TO THE POINT —Whose land? Mr Bloom said simply. —Most pertinent question, the professor said between his chews. With an accent on the whose. —Dan Dawson’s land Mr Dedalus said. —Is it his speech last night? Mr Bloom asked. Ned Lambert nodded. —But listen to...
#176 HIS NATIVE DORIC

#176 HIS NATIVE DORIC

HIS NATIVE DORIC —The moon, professor MacHugh said. He forgot Hamlet. —That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence… —O! Mr Dedalus cried, giving vent to a hopeless groan. Shite and...
#175 SAD

#175 SAD

SAD Cleverest fellow at the junior bar he used to be. Decline, poor chap. That hectic flush spells finis for a man. Touch and go with him. What’s in the wind, I wonder. Money worry. —Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. —You’re looking...
#172 ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP

#172 ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP He went down the house staircase. Who the deuce scrawled all over those walls with matches? Looks as if they did it for a bet. Heavy greasy smell there always is in those works. Lukewarm glue in Thom’s next door when I was there. He took out...
#171 AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER

#171 AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER

AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly distributing type. Reads it backwards first. Quickly he does it. Must require some practice that. mangiD kcirtaP. Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards with his finger...
#170 A DAYFATHER

#170 A DAYFATHER

A DAYFATHER He walked on through the caseroom passing an old man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. Old Monks, the dayfather. Queer lot of stuff he must have put through his hands in his time: obituary notices, pubs’ ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned. Nearing the...