Улисс

           AndinpointoffacttheyoungmannamedAntonio’slividfacedidactuallylooklikeforcedsmilingandthecuriouseffectexcitedtheunreservedadmirationofeverybodyincludingSkin-the-Goat,whothistimestretchedover.

           —Ay,ay,sighedthesailor,lookingdownonhismanlychest.He’sgonetoo.Atebysharksafter.Ay,ay.

           Heletgooftheskinsothattheprofileresumedthenormalexpressionofbefore.

           —Neatbitofwork,onelongshoremansaid.

           —Andwhat’sthenumberfor?loafernumbertwoqueried.

           —Eatenalive?athirdaskedthesailor.

           —Ay,ay,sighedagainthelatterpersonage,morecheerilythistimewithsomesortofahalfsmileforabriefdurationonlyinthedirectionofthequestioneraboutthenumber.Ate.AGreekhewas.

           Andthenheaddedwithrathergallowsbirdhumourconsideringhisallegedend:

           —AsbadasoldAntonio,

           Forheleftmeonmyownio.

           Thefaceofastreetwalkerglazedandhaggardunderablackstrawhatpeeredaskewroundthedooroftheshelterpalpablyreconnoitringonherownwiththeobjectofbringingmoregristtohermill.MrBloom,scarcelyknowingwhichwaytolook,turnedawayonthemomentflusterfiedbutoutwardlycalm,and,pickingupfromthetablethepinksheetoftheAbbeystreetorganwhichthejarvey,ifsuchhewas,hadlaidaside,hepickeditupandlookedatthepinkofthepaperthoughwhypink.