Page 260 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

dark, panting, one asking the other have you the brawn,
praising God and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come
down, peeping at the airslits. Glory be to God. They had
no idea it was that high.

Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe.
Anne Kearns has the lumbago for which she rubs on
Lourdes water, given her by a lady who got a bottleful
from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a
crubeen and a bottle of double X for supper every
Saturday.
—Antithesis, the professor said nodding twice. Vestal
virgins. I can see them. What’s keeping our friend?
He turned.
A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps,
scattering in all directions, yelling, their white papers
fluttering. Hard after them Myles Crawford appeared on
the steps, his hat aureoling his scarlet face, talking with J. J.
O’Molloy.
—Come along, the professor cried, waving his arm.
He set off again to walk by Stephen’s side.

RETURN OF BLOOM

—Yes, he said. I see them.

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