Page 182 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

she wanted back, waiting. It never comes. One must go
first: alone, under the ground: and lie no more in her
warm bed.
—How are you, Simon? Ned Lambert said softly,

clasping hands. Haven’t seen you for a month of Sundays.
—Never better. How are all in Cork’s own town?
—I was down there for the Cork park races on Easter
Monday, Ned Lambert said. Same old six and eightpence.
Stopped with Dick Tivy.
—And how is Dick, the solid man?
—Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert
answered.
—By the holy Paul! Mr Dedalus said in subdued
wonder. Dick Tivy bald?
—Martin is going to get up a whip for the youngsters,
Ned Lambert said, pointing ahead. A few bob a skull. Just
to keep them going till the insurance is cleared up.
—Yes, yes, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. Is that the
eldest boy in front?
—Yes, Ned Lambert said, with the wife’s brother. John
Henry Menton is behind. He put down his name for a
quid.

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