Page 802 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

BLOOM: Yes, ma’am?
MARION: ti trema un poco il cuore?
(In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter

pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)
BLOOM: Are you sure about that voglio? I mean the
pronunciati ...
(He follows, followed by the sniffing terrier. The elderly bawd
seizes his sleeve, the bristles of her chinmole glittering.)
THE BAWD: Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing
was never touched. Fifteen. There’s no-one in it only her
old father that’s dead drunk.
(She points. In the gap of her dark den furtive,
rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)
BRIDIE: Hatch street. Any good in your mind?
(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly
rough pursues with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps,
recovers, plunges into gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard,
weaker.)
THE BAWD: (Her wolfeyes shining) He’s getting his
pleasure. You won’t get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten
shillings. Don’t be all night before the polis in plain clothes
sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch.
(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. She draws from
behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)

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