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she minds it till Johnny es marching home again。 If ever he does。 Smelling the tail end of ports。 How can they like the sea？ Yet they do。 The anchor's weighed。 Off he sails with a scapular or a medal on him for luck。 Well？ And the tephilim no what's this they call it poor papa's father had on his door to touch。 That brought us out of the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage。 Something in all those superstitions because when you go out never know what dangers。 Hanging on to a plank or astride of a beam for grim life； life…belt round round him； gulping salt water； and that's the last of his nibs till the sharks catch hold of him。 Do fish ever get seasick？
Then you have a beautiful calm without a cloud； smooth sea； placid； crew and cargo in smithereens； Davy Jones' locker。 Moon looking down。 Not my fault； old cockalorum。
A lost long candle wandered up the sky from Mirus bazaar in search of funds for Mercer's hospital and broke； drooping； and sheda cluster of violet but one white stars。 They floated； fell： they faded。 The shepherd's hour： the hour of holding： hour of tryst。 From house to house； giving his everwele double knock； went the nine o'clock postman； the glowworm's lamp at his belt gleaming here and there through the laurel hedges。 And among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp at Leahy's terrace。 By screens of lighted windows； by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying； wailing： Evening Telegraph； stop press edition！ Result of the Gold Cup race！ and from the door of Dignam's house a boy ran out and called。 Twittering the bat flew here； flew there。 Far out over the sands the ing surf crept； grey。 Howth settled for slumber tired of long days； of yumyum rhododendrons （he was old） and felt gladly the night breeze lift； ruffle his fell of ferns。 He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping； deep and slowly breathing； slumberous but awake。 And far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled； winked at Mr Bloom。
Life those chaps out there must have； stuck in the same spot。 Irish Lights board。 Penance for their sins。 Coastguards too。 Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat。 Day we went out for the pleasure cruise in the Erin's King； throwing them the sack of old papers。 Bears in the zoo。 Filthy trip。 Drunkards out to shake up their livers。 Puking overboard to feed the herrings。 Nausea。 And the women； fear of God in their faces。 Milly； no sign of funk。 Her blue scarf loose； laughing。 Don't know what death is at that age。 And then their stomachs clean。 But being lost they fear。 When we hid behind the tree at Crumlin。 I didn't want to。 Mamma！ Mamma！ Babes in the wood。 Frightening them with masks too。 Throwing them up in the air to catch them。 I'll murder you。 Is it only half fun？ Or children playing battle。 Whole earnest。 How can people aim guns at each other？ Sometimes they go off。 Poor kids。 Only troubles wildfire and nettlerash。 Calomel purge I got her for that。 After getting better asleep with Molly。 Very same teeth she has。 What do they love？ Another themselves？ But the morning she chased her with the umbrella。 Perhaps so as not to hurt。 I felt her pulse。 Ticking。 Little hand it was： now big。 Dearest Papli。 All that the hand says when you touch。 Loved to count my waistcoat buttons。 Her first stays I remember。 Made me laugh to see。 Little paps to begin with。 Left one is more sensitive； I think。 Mine too。 Nearer the heart。 Padding themselves out if fat is in fashion。 Her growing pains at night； calling； wakening me。 Frightened she was when her nature came on her first。 Poor child！ Strange moment for the mother too。 Brings back her girlhood。 Gibraltar。 Looking from Buena Vista。 O'Hara's tower。 The seabirds screaming。 Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his family。 Sundown； gunfire for the men to cross the lines。 Looking out over the sea she told me。 Evening like this； but clear； no clouds。 I always thought I'd marry a lord or a gentleman with a private yacht。 Buenos noches； se？orita。 El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa。 Why me？ Because you were so foreign from the others。
Better not stick here all night like a limpet。 This weather makes you dull。 Must be getting on for nine by the light。 Go home。 Too late for Leoh； Lily of Killarney。 No。 Might be still up。 Call to the hospital to see。 Hope she's over。 Long day I've had。 Martha； the bath； funeral； house of keys； museum with those goddesses； Dedalus' song。 Then that bawler in Barney Kiernan's。 Got my own back there。 Drunken ranters。 What I said about his God made him wince。 Mistake to hit back。 Or？ No。 Ought to go home and laugh at themselves。 Always want to be swilling in pany。 Afraid to be alone like a child of two。 Suppose he hit me。 Look at it other way round。 Not so bad then。 Perhaps not to hurt he meant。 Three cheers for Israel。 Three cheers for the sister…in…law he hawked about； three fangs in her mouth。 Same style of beauty。 Particularly nice old party for a cup of tea。 The sister of the wife of the wild man of Borneo has just e to town。 Imagine that in the early morning at close range。 Everyone to his taste as Morris said when he kissed the cow。 But Dignam's put the boots on it。 Houses of mourning so depressing because you never know。 Anyhow she wants the money。 Must call to those Scottish widows as I promised。 Strange name。 Takes it for granted we're going to pop off first。 That widow on Monday was it outside Cramer's that looked at me。 Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the premium。 Her widow's mite。 Well？ What do you expect her to do？ Must wheedle her way along。 Widower I hate to see。 Looks so forlorn。 Poor man O'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here。 The sewage。 Hopeless。 Some good matronly woman in a pork…pie hat to mother him。 Take him in tow； platter face and a large apron。 Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers； three shillings a pair； astonishing bargain。 Plain and loved； loved for ever； they say。 Ugly： no woman thinks she is。 Love； lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die。 See him sometimes walking about trying to find out who played the trick。 U。 p。： up。 Fate that is。 He； not me。 Also a shop often noticed。 Curse seems to dog it。 Dreamt last night？ Wait。 Something confused。 She had red slippers on。 Turkish。 Wore the breeches。 Suppose she does。 Would I like her in pyjamas？ Damned hard to answer。 Nannetti's gone。 Mailboat。 Near Holyhead by now。 Must nail that ad of Keyes's。 Work Hynes and Crawford。 Petticoats for Molly。 She has something to put in them。 What's that？ Might be money。
Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the strand。 He brought it near his eyes and peered。 Letter？ No。 Can't read。 Better go。 Better。 I'm tired to move。 Page of an old copybook。 All those holes and pebbles。 Who could count them？ Never know what you find。 Bottle with story of a treasure in it thrown from a wreck。 Parcels post。 Children always want to throw things in the sea。 Trust？ Bread cast on the waters。 What's this？ Bit of stick。
O！ Exhausted that female has me。 Not so young now。 Will she e here tomorrow？ Wait for her somewhere for ever。 Must e back。 Murderers do。 Will I？
Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot。 Write a message for her。 Might remain。 What？
I。
Some flatfoot tramp on it in the