Page 897 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

VIRAG: (Sloughing his skins, his multitudinous plumage
moulting) Rats! (He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and
closes his jaws by an upward push of his parchmentroll) After

having said which I took my departure. Farewell. Fare
thee well. Dreck!
(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a
pocketcomb and gives a cow’s lick to his hair. Steered by his
rapier, he glides to the door, his wild harp slung behind him.
Virag reaches the door in two ungainly stilthops, his tail cocked,
and deftly claps sideways on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting
it with his head.)
THE FLYBILL: K. II. Post No Bills. Strictly
confidential. Dr Hy Franks.
HENRY: All is lost now.
(Virag unscrews his head in a trice and holds it under his
arm.)
VIRAG’S HEAD: Quack!
(Exeunt severally.)
STEPHEN: (Over his shoulder to zoe) You would have
preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant
error. But beware Antisthenes, the dog sage, and the last
end of Arius Heresiarchus. The agony in the closet.
LYNCH: All one and the same God to her.

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