Улисс

           Itwasallnousesootheringhimwithno,nono,baby,noandtellinghimaboutthegeegeeandwherewasthepuffpuffbutCiss,alwaysreadywitted,gavehiminhismouththeteatofthesuckingbottleandtheyoungheathenwasquicklyappeased.

           Gertywishedtogoodnesstheywouldtaketheirsquallingbabyhomeoutofthatandnotgetonhernerves,nohourtobeout,andthelittlebratsoftwins.Shegazedouttowardsthedistantsea.Itwaslikethepaintingsthatmanusedtodoonthepavementwithallthecolouredchalksandsuchapitytooleavingthemtheretobeallblottedout,theeveningandthecloudscomingoutandtheBaileylightonHowthandtohearthemusiclikethatandtheperfumeofthoseincensetheyburnedinthechurchlikeakindofwaft.Andwhileshegazedherheartwentpitapat.Yes,itwasherhewaslookingat,andtherewasmeaninginhislook.Hiseyesburnedintoherasthoughtheywouldsearchherthroughandthrough,readherverysoul.Wonderfuleyestheywere,superblyexpressive,butcouldyoutrustthem?Peopleweresoqueer.Shecouldseeatoncebyhisdarkeyesandhispaleintellectualfacethathewasaforeigner,theimageofthephotoshehadofMartinHarvey,thematineeidol,onlyforthemoustachewhichshepreferredbecauseshewasn’tstagestrucklikeWinnyRippinghamthatwantedtheytwotoalwaysdressthesameonaccountofaplaybutshecouldnotseewhetherhehadanaquilinenoseoraslightlyretrousséfromwherehewassitting.Hewasindeepmourning,shecouldseethat,andthestoryofahauntingsorrowwaswrittenonhisface.