Page 1017 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

Nobody volunteering a statement he winked, saying:
—Glass. That boggles ‘em. Glass.
Mr Bloom, without evincing surprise, unostentatiously
turned over the card to peruse the partially obliterated

address and postmark. It ran as follows: Tarjeta Postal, Señor
A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. There was no
message evidently, as he took particular notice. Though
not an implicit believer in the lurid story narrated (or the
eggsniping transaction for that matter despite William Tell
and the Lazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in
Maritana on which occasion the former’s ball passed
through the latter’s hat) having detected a discrepancy
between his name (assuming he was the person he
represented himself to be and not sailing under false
colours after having boxed the compass on the strict q.t.
somewhere) and the fictitious addressee of the missive
which made him nourish some suspicions of our friend’s
bona fides nevertheless it reminded him in a way of a
longcherished plan he meant to one day realise some
Wednesday or Saturday of travelling to London via long
sea not to say that he had ever travelled extensively to any
great extent but he was at heart a born adventurer though
by a trick of fate he had consistently remained a landlubber
except you call going to Holyhead which was his longest.

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