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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 646/821
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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
!
BLOOM
:
(
Contemptuously
.
)
Clean
your
nailless
middle
finger
first
,
your
bully
’
s
cold
spunk
is
dripping
from
your
cockscomb
.
Take
a
handful
of
hay
and
wipe
yourself
.
BELLA
:
I
know
you
,
canvasser
!
Dead
cod
!
BLOOM
:
I
saw
him
,
kipkeeper
!
Pox
and
gleet
vendor
!
BELLA
:
(
Turns
to
the
piano
.
)
Which
of
you
was
playing
the
dead
march
from
Saul
?
ZOE
:
Me
.
Mind
your
cornflowers
.
(
She
darts
to
the
piano
and
bangs
chords
on
it
with
crossed
arms
.
)
The
cat
’
s
ramble
through
the
slag
.
(
She
glances
back
.
)
Eh
?
Who
’
s
making
love
to
my
sweeties
?
(
She
darts
back
to
the
table
.
)
What
’
s
yours
is
mine
and
what
’
s
mine
is
my
own
.
(
Kitty
,
disconcerted
,
coats
her
teeth
with
the
silver
paper
.
Bloom
approaches
Zoe
.
)
BLOOM
:
(
Gently
.
)
Give
me
back
that
potato
,
will
you
?
ZOE
:
Forfeits
,
a
fine
thing
and
a
superfine
thing
.
