Улисс
Chapter 8
Didyoutrytheboraxwiththecherrylaurelwater?
MissDoucehalfstoodtoseeherskinaskanceinthebarmirrorgildedletteredwherehockandclaretglassesshimmeredandintheirmidstashell.
—Andleaveittomyhands,shesaid.
—Tryitwiththeglycerine,missKennedyadvised.
BiddingherneckandhandsadieumissDouce
—Thosethingsonlybringoutarash,replied,reseated.IaskedthatoldfogeyinBoyd’sforsomethingformyskin.
MissKennedy,pouringnowafulldrawntea,grimacedandprayed:
—O,don’tremindmeofhimformercy’sake!
—ButwaittillItellyou,missDouceentreated.
SweetteamissKennedyhavingpouredwithmilkpluggedbothtwoearswithlittlefingers.
—No,don’t,shecried.
—Iwon’tlisten,shecried.
ButBloom?
MissDoucegruntedinsnuffyfogey’stone:
—Foryourwhat?sayshe.
MissKennedyunpluggedherearstohear,tospeak:butsaid,butprayedagain:
—Don’tletmethinkofhimorI’llexpire.Thehideousoldwretch!ThatnightintheAntientConcertRooms.
Shesippeddistastefullyherbrew,hottea,asip,sipped,sweettea.
—Herehewas,missDoucesaid,cockingherbronzeheadthreequarters,rufflinghernosewings.Hufa!Hufa!
ShrillshriekoflaughtersprangfrommissKennedy’sthroat.MissDoucehuffedandsnorteddownhernostrilsthatquiveredimperthnthnlikeasnoutinquest.
—O!shrieking,missKennedycried.Willyoueverforgethisgoggleeye?
MissDoucechimedinindeepbronzelaughter,shouting:
—Andyourothereye!
BloowhosedarkeyereadAaronFigatner’sname.WhydoIalwaysthinkFigather?Gatheringfigs,Ithink.
