Улісс

           —Pleasureismine,sir,NedLambertanswered.

           Hefollowedhisguesttotheoutletandthenwhirledhislathawayamongthepillars.WithJ.J.O’MolloyhecameforthslowlyintoMary’sabbeywheredraymenwereloadingfloatswithsacksofcarobandpalmnutmeal,O’Connor,Wexford.

           Hestoodtoreadthecardinhishand.

           —ThereverendHughC.Love,Rathcoffey.Presentaddress:SaintMichael’s,Sallins.Niceyoungchapheis.He’swritingabookabouttheFitzgeraldshetoldme.He’swellupinhistory,faith.

           Theyoungwomanwithslowcaredetachedfromherlightskirtaclingingtwig.

           —Ithoughtyouwereatanewgunpowderplot,J.J.O’Molloysaid.

           NedLambertcrackedhisfingersintheair.

           —God!hecried.IforgottotellhimthatoneabouttheearlofKildareafterhesetfiretoCashelcathedral.Youknowthatone?I’mbloodysorryIdidit,sayshe,butIdeclaretoGodIthoughtthearchbishopwasinside.Hemightn’tlikeit,though.What?God,I’lltellhimanyhow.Thatwasthegreatearl,theFitzgeraldMor.Hotmemberstheywereallofthem,theGeraldines.

           Thehorseshepassedstartednervouslyundertheirslackharness.Heslappedapiebaldhaunchquiveringnearhimandcried:

           —Woa,sonny!

           HeturnedtoJ.J.O’Molloyandasked:

           —Well,Jack.Whatisit?What’sthetrouble?Waitawhile.Holdhard.

           Withgapingmouthandheadfarbackhestoodstilland,afteraninstant,sneezedloudly.

           —Chow!hesaid.Blastyou!

           —Thedustfromthosesacks,J.J.O’Molloysaidpolitely.

           —No,NedLambertgasped,Icaughta...coldnightbefore...blastyoursoul...nightbeforelast...