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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 633/821
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A
VOICE
:
One
and
eightpence
too
much
.
CHARLES
ALBERTA
MARSH
:
Must
be
virgin
.
Good
breath
.
Clean
.
BELLO
:
(
Gives
a
rap
with
his
gavel
.
)
Two
bar
.
Rockbottom
figure
and
cheap
at
the
price
.
Fourteen
hands
high
.
Touch
and
examine
shis
points
.
Handle
hrim
.
This
downy
skin
,
these
soft
muscles
,
this
tender
flesh
.
If
I
had
only
my
gold
piercer
here
!
And
quite
easy
to
milk
.
Three
newlaid
gallons
a
day
.
A
pure
stockgetter
,
due
to
lay
within
the
hour
.
His
sire
’
s
milk
record
was
a
thousand
gallons
of
whole
milk
in
forty
weeks
.
Whoa
,
my
jewel
!
Beg
up
!
Whoa
!
(
He
brands
his
initial
C
on
Bloom
’
s
croup
.
)
So
!
Warranted
Cohen
!
What
advance
on
two
bob
,
gentlemen
?
A
DARKVISAGED
MAN
:
(
In
disguised
accent
.
)
Hoondert
punt
sterlink
.
VOICES
:
(
Subdued
.
)
For
the
Caliph
.
Haroun
Al
Raschid
.
BELLO
:
(
Gaily
.
)
Right
.
Let
them
all
come
.
The
scanty
,
daringly
short
skirt
,
riding
up
at
the
knee
to
show
a
peep
of
white
pantalette
,
is
a
potent
weapon
and
transparent
stockings
,
emeraldgartered
,
with
the
long
straight
seam
trailing
up
beyond
the
knee
,
appeal
to
the
better
instincts
of
the
blasé
man
about
town
.
Learn
the
smooth
mincing
walk
on
four
inch
Louis
Quinze
heels
,
the
Grecian
bend
with
provoking
croup
,
the
thighs
fluescent
,
knees
modestly
kissing
.
Bring
all
your
powers
of
fascination
to
bear
on
them
.
Pander
to
their
Gomorrahan
vices
.
BLOOM
:
(
Bends
his
blushing
face
into
his
armpit
and
simpers
with
forefinger
in
mouth
.
)
O
,
I
know
what
you
’
re
hinting
at
now
!
BELLO
:
What
else
are
you
good
for
,
an
impotent
thing
like
you
?
(
He
stoops
and
,
peering
,
pokes
with
his
fan
rudely
under
the
fat
suet
folds
of
Bloom
’
s
haunches
.
)
Up
!
Up
!
Manx
cat
!
What
have
we
here
?
Where
’
s
your
curly
teapot
gone
to
or
who
docked
it
on
you
,
cockyolly
?
Sing
,
birdy
,
sing
.
It
’
s
as
limp
as
a
boy
of
six
’
s
doing
his
pooly
behind
a
cart
.
Buy
a
bucket
or
sell
your
pump
.
(
Loudly
.
)
Can
you
do
a
man
’
s
job
?
BLOOM
:
Eccles
street
.
.
.
