Page 797 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

BLOOM: I beg. (He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past
and on.)
BLOOM: Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a

signpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who
procured that public boon? I who lost my way and
contributed to the columns of the Irish Cyclist the letter
headed In darkest Stepaside. Keep, keep, keep to the right.
Rags and bones at midnight. A fence more likely. First
place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the world.
(Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt
against Bloom.)
BLOOM: O
(Shocked, on weak hams, he halts. Tommy and Jacky vanish
there, there. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket,
bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)
BLOOM: Beware of pickpockets. Old thieves’ dodge.
Collide. Then snatch your purse.
(The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the ground. A
sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed
in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smokingcap with
magenta tassels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the
nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)

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