Улисс

           I’dratherhaveyouwithoutafarthing

           ThanKateyKeoghwithherassandgarden.

           PooroldprofessorGoodwin.Dreadfuloldcase.Stillhewasacourteousoldchap.OldfashionedwayheusedtobowMollyofftheplatform.Andthelittlemirrorinhissilkhat.ThenightMillybroughtitintotheparlour.O,lookwhatIfoundinprofessorGoodwin’shat!Allwelaughed.Sexbreakingouteventhen.Pertlittlepieceshewas.

           Heproddedaforkintothekidneyandslappeditover:thenfittedtheteapotonthetray.Itshumpbumpedashetookitup.Everythingonit?Breadandbutter,four,sugar,spoon,hercream.Yes.Hecarrieditupstairs,histhumbhookedintheteapothandle.

           Nudgingthedooropenwithhiskneehecarriedthetrayinandsetitonthechairbythebedhead.

           —Whatatimeyouwere!shesaid.

           Shesetthebrassesjinglingassheraisedherselfbriskly,anelbowonthepillow.Helookedcalmlydownonherbulkandbetweenherlargesoftbubs,slopingwithinhernightdresslikeashegoat’sudder.Thewarmthofhercouchedbodyroseontheair,minglingwiththefragranceoftheteashepoured.

           Astripoftornenvelopepeepedfromunderthedimpledpillow.Intheactofgoinghestayedtostraightenthebedspread.

           —Whowastheletterfrom?heasked.

           Boldhand.Marion.

           —O,Boylan,shesaid.He’sbringingtheprogramme.

           —Whatareyousinging?

           —LàcidaremwithJ.C.Doyle,shesaid,andLove’sOldSweetSong.

           Herfulllips,drinking,smiled.Ratherstalesmellthatincenseleavesnextday.Likefoulflowerwater.