w a pin sometimes e out of the ribs years after； tour round the body； changing biliary duct； spleen squirting liver； gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes。 But the poor buffer would have to stand all the time with his insides entrails on show。 Science。
A cenar teco。
What does that teco mean？ Tonight perhaps。
Don Giovanni； thou hast me invited
To e to supper tonight；
The rum the rumdum。
Doesn't go properly。
Keyes： two months if I get Nannetti to。 That'll be two pounds ten； about two pounds eight。 Three Hynes owes me。 Two eleven。 Presscott's ad。 Two fifteen。 Five guineas about。 On the pig's back。
Could buy one of those silk petticoats for Molly； colour of her new garters。
Today。 Today。 Not think。
Tour the south then。 What about English watering places？ Brighton； Margate。 Piers by moonlight。 Her voice floating out。 Those lovely seaside girls。 Against John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought； gnawing a crusted knuckle。 Handy man wants job。 Small wages。 Will eat anything。
Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of unbought tarts and passed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore。 Why I left the church of Rome？ Bird's Nest。 Women run him。 They say they used to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the time of the potato blight。 Society over the way papa went to for the conversion of poor jews。 Same bait。 Why we left the church of Rome？
A blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone with his slender cane。 No tram in sight。 Wants to cross。
Do you want to cross？ Mr Bloom asked。
The blind stripling did not answer。 His wall face frowned weakly。 He moved his head uncertainly。
You're in Dawson street； Mr Bloom said。 Molesworth street is opposite。 Do you want to cross？ There's nothing in the way。
The cane moved out trembling to the left。 Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's。 Where I saw his brilliantined hair just when I was。 Horse drooping。 Driver in John Long's。 Slaking his drouth。
There's a van there； Mr Bloom said； but it's not moving。 I'll see you across。 Do you want to go to Molesworth street？
Yes； the stripling answered。 South Frederick street。
e； Mr Bloom said。
He touched the thin elbow gently： then took the limp seeing hand to guide it forward。
Say something to him。 Better not do the condescending。 They mistrust what you tell them。 Pass a mon remark：
The rain kept off。
No answer。
Stains on his coat。 Slobbers his food； I suppose。 Tastes all different for him。 Have to be spoonfed first。 Like a child's hand his hand。 Like Milly's was。 Sensitive。 Sizing me up I daresay from my hand。 Wonder if he has a name； Van。 Keep his cane clear of the horse's legs tired drudge get his doze。 That's right。 Clear。 Behind a bull： in front of a horse。
Thanks； sir。
Knows I'm a man。 Voice。
Right now？ First turn to the left。
The blind stripling tapped the curbstone and went on his way； drawing his cane back； feeling again。
Mr Bloom walked behind the eyeless feet； a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed。 Poor young fellow！ How on earth did he know that van was there？ Must have felt it。 See things in their foreheads perhaps。 Kind of sense of volume。 Weight。 Would he feel it if something was removed？ Feel a gap。 Queer idea of Dublin he must have； tapping his way round by the stones。 Could he walk in a beeline if he hadn't that cane？ Bloodless pious face like a fellow going in to be a priest。
Penrose！ That was that chap's name。
Look at all the things they can learn to do。 Read with their fingers。 Tune pianos。 Or we are surprised they have any brains。 Why we think a deformed person or a hunchback clever if he says something we might say。 Of course the other senses are more。 Embroider。 Plait baskets。 People ought to help。 Work basket I could buy Molly's birthday。 Hates sewing。 Might take an objection。 Dark men they call them。
Sense of smell must be stronger too。 Smells on all sides bunched together。 Each person too。 Then the spring； the summer： smells。 Tastes。 They say you can't taste wines with your eyes shut or a cold in the head。 Also smoke in the dark they say get no pleasure。
And with a woman； for instance。 More shameless not seeing。 That girl passing the Stewart institution； head in the air。 Look at me。 I have them all on。 Must be strange not to see her。 Kind of a form in his mind's eye。 The voice temperature when he touches her with fingers must almost see the lines； the curves。 His hands on her hair； for instance。 Say it was black for instance。 Good。 We call it black。 Then passing over her white skin。 Different feel perhaps。 Feeling of white。
Postoffice。 Must answer。 Fag today。 Send her a postal order two shillings half a crown。 Accept my little present。 Stationer's just here too。 Wait。 Think over it。
With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair bed back above his ears。 Again。 Fibres of fine fine straw。 Then gently his finger felt the skin of his right cheek。 Downy hair there too。 Not smooth enough。 The belly is the smoothest。 No…one about。 There he goes into Frederick street。 Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano。 Might be settling my braces。
Walking by Doran's public house he slid his hand between waistcoat and trousers and； pulling aside his shirt gently； felt a slack fold of his belly。 But I know it's whiteyellow。 Want to try in the dark to see。
He withdrew his hand and pulled his dress to。
Poor fellow！ Quite a boy。 Terrible。 Really terrible。 What dreams would he have； not seeing？ Life a dream for him。 Where is the justice being born that way？ All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and drowned in New York。 Holocaust。 Karma they call that transmigration for sins you did in a past life the reincarnation met him pike…hoses。 Dear； dear； dear。 Pity of course： but somehow you can't cotton on to them someway。
Sir Frederick Falkiner going into the freemasons' hall。 Solemn as Troy。 After his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace。 Old legal cronies cracking a magnum。 Tales of the bench and assizes and annals of the bluecoat school。 I sentenced him to ten years。 I suppose he'd turn up his nose at that stuff I drank。 Vintage wine for them； the year marked on a dusty bottle。 Has his own ideas of justice in the recorder's court。 Wellmeaning old man。 Police chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime。 Sends them to the rightabout。 The devil on moneylenders。 Gave Reuben J。 a great strawcalling。 Now he's really what they call a dirty jew。 Power those judges have。 Crusty old topers in wigs。 Bear with a sore paw。 And may the Lord have mercy on your soul。
Hello； placard。 Mirus bazaar。 His excellency the lord lieutenant。 Sixteenth today it is。 In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital。 The Messiah was first given for that。 Yes Handel。 What about going out there。 Ballsbridge。 Drop in on Keyes。 No use sticking to him like a leech。 Wear out my wele。 Sure to know someone on the gate。
Mr Bloom came to Kildare Street。 First I must。 Library。
Straw hat in sunlight。 Tan shoes。 Turnedup trousers。 It is。 It is。
His heart quopped softly。 To the right。 Museum。 Goddesses。 He swerved to the right。
Is it？ Almost certain。 Won't look。 Wine in my face。 Why did I？ Too heady。 Yes； it is。 The walk。 Not see。 Not see。 Get on。
Making for the museum gate with long windy strides he lifted his eyes。 Handsome building。 Sir Thomas Deane designed。 Not following me？
Didn't see me perhaps。 Light in his eyes。
The flutter of his breath came forth in short sighs。 Quick。 Cold statues： quiet there。 Safe in a minute。
No； didn't see me。 After two。 Just at the gate。
My heart！
His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone。 Sir Thomas Deane was the Greek architecture。
Look for something I。
His hasty hand went quick into a pocket； took out； read unfolded Agendath Netaim。 Where did I？
Busy looking for。
He thrust back quickly Agendath。
Afternoon she said。
I am looking for that。 Yes； that。 Try all pockets。 Handker。 Freeman。 Where did I ？ Ah； yes。 Trousers。 Purse。 Potato。 Where did I ？
Hurry。 Walk quietly。 Moment more。 My heart。
His hand looking for the where did I put found in his hip pocket soap lotion have to call tepid paper stuck； Ah； soap there！ Yes。 Gate。
Safe！
Scylla and Charybdis
URBANE； TO FORT THEM； THE QUAKER LIBRARIAN PURRED：
And we have； have we not； those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister？ A great poet on a great brother poet。 A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles； torn by conflicting doubts； as one sees in real life。
He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a step backward a sinkapace on the solemn floor。
A noiseless attendant； setting open the door but slightly； made him a noiseless beck。
Directly； said he； creaking to go； albeit lingering。 The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who es to grief against hard facts。 One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true。 True in the larger analysis。
Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off。 Bald； most zealous by the door he gave his large ear all to the attendant's words： heard them： and was gone。
Two left。
Monsieur de la Palisse； Stephen sneered； was alive fifteen minutes before his death。
Have you found those six brave medicals； John Eglinton asked with elder's gall； to write Paradise Lost at your dictation？ The Sorrows of Satan he calls it。
Smile。 Smile Cranly's smile。
First he tickled her
Then he patted her
Then he passed the female catheter。
For he was a medical
jolly old medi。
I feel you would need one more for Hamlet。 Seven is dear to the mystic mind。 The shining seven W。 B。 calls them。
Glittereyed； his rufous skull close to his greencapped desklamp sought the face； bearded amid darkgreener shadow； an ollav； holyeyed。 He laughed low： a sizar's laugh of Trinity： unanswered。
Orchestral Satan； weeping many a rood
Tears such as angels weep。
Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta。
He holds my follies hostage。
Cranly's eleven true Wicklowmen to free their sireland。 Gaptoothed Kathleen； her four beautiful green fields； the stranger in her house。 And one more to hail him： ave； rabbi。 The Tinahely twelve。 In the shadow of the glen he cooees for them。 My soul's youth I gave him； night by night。 Godspeed。 Good hunting。