Улисс

           —Bloom,hesaid,MadameMarionTweedythatwas,is,Imean,thesoprano.She’shiswife.

           —O,tobesure,JohnHenryMentonsaid.Ihaven’tseenherforsometime.Shewasafinelookingwoman.Idancedwithher,wait,fifteenseventeengoldenyearsago,atMatDillon’sinRoundtown.Andagoodarmfulshewas.

           Helookedbehindthroughtheothers.

           —Whatishe?heasked.Whatdoeshedo?Wasn’theinthestationeryline?Ifellfoulofhimoneevening,Iremember,atbowls.

           NedLambertsmiled.

           —Yes,hewas,hesaid,inWisdomHely’s.Atravellerforblottingpaper.

           —InGod’sname,JohnHenryMentonsaid,whatdidshemarryacoonlikethatfor?Shehadplentyofgameinherthen.

           —Hasstill,NedLambertsaid.Hedoessomecanvassingforads.

           JohnHenryMenton’slargeeyesstaredahead.

           Thebarrowturnedintoasidelane.Aportlyman,ambushedamongthegrasses,raisedhishatinhomage.Thegravediggerstouchedtheircaps.

           —JohnO’Connell,MrPowersaidpleased.Heneverforgetsafriend.

           MrO’Connellshookalltheirhandsinsilence.MrDedalussaid:

           —Iamcometopayyouanothervisit.

           —MydearSimon,thecaretakeransweredinalowvoice.Idon’twantyourcustomatall.

           SalutingNedLambertandJohnHenryMentonhewalkedonatMartinCunningham’ssidepuzzlingtwolongkeysathisback.

           —Didyouhearthatone,heaskedthem,aboutMulcahyfromtheCoombe?

           —Ididnot,MartinCunninghamsaid.

           TheybenttheirsilkhatsinconcertandHynesinclinedhisear.Thecaretakerhunghisthumbsintheloopsofhisgoldwatchchainandspokeinadiscreettonetotheirvacantsmiles.