Page 267 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

HORATIO IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR
JUNE DAY

J. J. O’Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the
statue and held his peace.
—I see, the professor said.
He halted on sir John Gray’s pavement island and

peered aloft at Nelson through the meshes of his wry
smile.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO
TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.
ANNE WIMBLES, FLO WANGLES—
YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?

—Onehandled adulterer, he said smiling grimly. That
tickles me, I must say.
—Tickled the old ones too, Myles Crawford said, if the
God Almighty’s truth was known.

* * * * *

Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A
sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a
christian brother. Some school treat. Bad for their

266 of 1305