that sold me her old wraps and black underclothes in the Shelbourne hotel.  Divorced Spanish American.  Didn’t take a feather out of her my handling them.  As if I was her clotheshorse.  Saw her in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger got me in with Whelan of the express.  Scavenging what the quality left.  High tea.  Mayonnaise I poured on the plums thinking it was custard.  Her ears ought to have tingled for a few weeks after.  Want to be a bull for her.  Born courtesan.  No nursery work for her, thanks.

Poor Mrs Purefoy!  Methodist husband.  Method in his madness.  Saffron bun and milk and soda lunch in the educational dairy.  Y. M. C. A. Eating with a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the minute.  And still his muttonchop whiskers grew.  Supposed to be well connected.  Theodore’s cousin in Dublin Castle.  One tony relative in every family.  Hardy annuals he presents her with.  Saw him out at the Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his eldest boy carrying one in a marketnet.  The squallers.  Poor thing!  Then having to give the breast year after year all hours of the night.  Selfish those t.t’s are.  Dog in the manger.  Only one lump of sugar in my tea, if you please.

He stood at Fleet street crossing.  Luncheon interval.  A sixpenny at Rowe’s?  Must look up that ad in the national library.  An eightpenny in the Burton.  Better.  On my way.

He walked on past Bolton’s Westmoreland house.  Tea.  Tea.  Tea.  I forgot to tap Tom Kernan.

Sss.  Dth, dth, dth!  Three days imagine groaning on a bed with a vinegared handkerchief round her forehead, her belly swollen out.  Phew!  Dreadful simply!  Child’s head too big:  forceps.  Doubled up inside her trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the way out.  Kill me that would.  Lucky Molly got over hers lightly.  They ought to invent something to stop that.  Life with hard labour.  Twilight sleep idea:  queen Victoria was given that.  Nine she had.  A good layer.  Old woman that lived in a shoe she had so many children.  Suppose he was consumptive.  Time someone thought about it instead of gassing about the what was it the pensive bosom of the silver effulgence.  Flapdoodle to feed fools on.  They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to twentyone five per cent is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put by money save hundred and ten and a bit twentyone years want to work it out on paper come to a tidy sum more than you think.

Not stillborn of course.  They are not even registered.  Trouble for nothing.