Page 932 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

THE NYMPH: (With a cry flees from him unveiled, her
plaster cast cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks)
Poli ...!

BLOOM: (Calls after her) As if you didn’t get it on the
double yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all
over you. I tried it. Your strength our weakness. What’s
our studfee? What will you pay on the nail? You fee
mendancers on the Riviera, I read. (The fleeing nymph raises
a keen) Eh? I have sixteen years of black slave labour
behind me. And would a jury give me five shillings
alimony tomorrow, eh? Fool someone else, not me. (He
sniffs) Rut. Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease.
(The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.)
BELLA: You’ll know me the next time.
BLOOM: (Composed, regards her) Passée. Mutton dressed
as lamb. Long in the tooth and superfluous hair. A raw
onion the last thing at night would benefit your
complexion. And take some double chin drill. Your eyes
are as vapid as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. They have
the dimensions of your other features, that’s all. I’m not a
triple screw propeller.
BELLA: (Contemptuously) You’re not game, in fact.
(Her sowcunt barks) Fbhracht!

931 of 1305