Page 316 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

looks. All to see. Never speaking. I mean to say to fellows
like Flynn. Suppose she did Pygmalion and Galatea what
would she say first? Mortal! Put you in your proper place.
Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes, all

ambrosial. Not like a tanner lunch we have, boiled
mutton, carrots and turnips, bottle of Allsop. Nectar
imagine it drinking electricity: gods’ food. Lovely forms of
women sculped Junonian. Immortal lovely. And we
stuffing food in one hole and out behind: food, chyle,
blood, dung, earth, food: have to feed it like stoking an
engine. They have no. Never looked. I’ll look today.
Keeper won’t see. Bend down let something drop see if
she.
Dribbling a quiet message from his bladder came to go
to do not to do there to do. A man and ready he drained
his glass to the lees and walked, to men too they gave
themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a youth
enjoyed her, to the yard.
When the sound of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne
said from his book:
—What is this he is? Isn’t he in the insurance line?
—He’s out of that long ago, Nosey Flynn said. He does
canvassing for the Freeman.

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