Page 905 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly
small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax model
Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and
stick of rhubarb toe, as worn in Paris.

THE HOOF: Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal
weight.
BLOOM: (Crosslacing) Too tight?
THE HOOF: If you bungle, Handy Andy, I’ll kick
your football for you.
BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the
night of the bazaar dance. Bad luck. Hook in wrong tache
of her ... person you mentioned. That night she met ...
Now!
(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor. Bloom
raises his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow.
His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens.)
BLOOM: (Mumbles) Awaiting your further orders we
remain, gentlemen, ...
BELLO: (With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice)
Hound of dishonour!
BLOOM: (Infatuated) Empress!
BELLO: (His heavy cheekchops sagging) Adorer of the
adulterous rump!
BLOOM: (Plaintively) Hugeness!

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