Улисс

           Heraisedhisforefingerandbeattheairoldlybeforehisvoicespoke.

           —Markmywords,MrDedalus,hesaid.Englandisinthehandsofthejews.Inallthehighestplaces:herfinance,herpress.Andtheyarethesignsofanation’sdecay.Wherevertheygathertheyeatupthenation’svitalstrength.Ihaveseenitcomingtheseyears.Assureaswearestandingherethejewmerchantsarealreadyattheirworkofdestruction.OldEnglandisdying.

           Hesteppedswiftlyoff,hiseyescomingtobluelifeastheypassedabroadsunbeam.Hefacedaboutandbackagain.

           —Dying,hesaidagain,ifnotdeadbynow.

           Theharlot’scryfromstreettostreet

           ShallweaveoldEngland’swindingsheet.

           Hiseyesopenwideinvisionstaredsternlyacrossthesunbeaminwhichhehalted.

           —Amerchant,Stephensaid,isonewhobuyscheapandsellsdear,jeworgentile,ishenot?

           —Theysinnedagainstthelight,MrDeasysaidgravely.Andyoucanseethedarknessintheireyes.Andthatiswhytheyarewanderersontheearthtothisday.

           OnthestepsoftheParisstockexchangethegoldskinnedmenquotingpricesontheirgemmedfingers.Gabbleofgeese.Theyswarmedloud,uncouthaboutthetemple,theirheadsthickplottingundermaladroitsilkhats.Nottheirs:theseclothes,thisspeech,thesegestures.Theirfullsloweyesbeliedthewords,thegestureseagerandunoffending,butknewtherancoursmassedaboutthemandknewtheirzealwasvain.Vainpatiencetoheapandhoard.Timesurelywouldscatterall.Ahoardheapedbytheroadside:plunderedandpassingon.