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- Джеймс Джойс
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(
She
glides
away
crookedly
.
Mrs
Breen
in
man
’
s
frieze
overcoat
with
loose
bellows
pockets
,
stands
in
the
causeway
,
her
roguish
eyes
wideopen
,
smiling
in
all
her
herbivorous
buckteeth
.
)
MRS
BREEN
:
Mr
.
.
.
BLOOM
:
(
Coughs
gravely
.
)
Madam
,
when
we
last
had
this
pleasure
by
letter
dated
the
sixteenth
instant
.
.
.
MRS
BREEN
:
Mr
Bloom
!
You
down
here
in
the
haunts
of
sin
!
I
caught
you
nicely
!
Scamp
!
BLOOM
:
(
Hurriedly
.
)
Not
so
loud
my
name
.
Whatever
do
you
think
of
me
?
Don
’
t
give
me
away
.
Walls
have
ears
.
How
do
you
do
?
It
’
s
ages
since
I
.
You
’
re
looking
splendid
.
Absolutely
it
.
Seasonable
weather
we
are
having
this
time
of
year
.
Black
refracts
heat
.
Short
cut
home
here
.
Interesting
quarter
.
Rescue
of
fallen
women
.
Magdalen
asylum
.
I
am
the
secretary
.
.
.
MRS
BREEN
:
(
Holds
up
a
finger
.
)
Now
,
don
’
t
tell
a
big
fib
!
I
know
somebody
won
’
t
like
that
.
O
just
wait
till
I
see
Molly
!
(
Slily
.
)
Account
for
yourself
this
very
sminute
or
woe
betide
you
!
BLOOM
:
(
Looks
behind
.
)
She
often
said
she
’
d
like
to
visit
.
Slumming
.
The
exotic
,
you
see
.
Negro
servants
in
livery
too
if
she
had
money
.
Othello
black
brute
.
Eugene
Stratton
.
Even
the
bones
and
cornerman
at
the
Livermore
christies
.
Bohee
brothers
.
Sweep
for
that
matter
.
(
Tom
and
Sam
Bohee
,
coloured
coons
in
white
duck
suits
,
scarlet
socks
,
upstarched
Sambo
chokers
and
large
scarlet
asters
in
their
buttonholes
,
leap
out
.
Each
has
his
banjo
slung
.
Their
paler
smaller
negroid
hands
jingle
the
twingtwang
wires
.
Flashing
white
Kaffir
eyes
and
tusks
they
rattle
through
a
breakdown
in
clumsy
clogs
,
twinging
,
singing
,
back
to
back
,
toe
heel
,
heel
toe
,
with
smackfatclacking
nigger
lips
.
)
