Nice quiet bar.  Nice piece of wood in that counter.  Nicely planed.  Like the way it curves there.

—­I wouldn’t do anything at all in that line, Davy Byrne said.  It ruined many a man, the same horses.

Vintners’ sweepstake.  Licensed for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises.  Heads I win tails you lose.

—­True for you, Nosey Flynn said.  Unless you’re in the know.  There’s no straight sport going now.  Lenehan gets some good ones.  He’s giving Sceptre today.  Zinfandel’s the favourite, lord Howard de Walden’s, won at Epsom.  Morny Cannon is riding him.  I could have got seven to one against Saint Amant a fortnight before.

—­That so?  Davy Byrne said ...

He went towards the window and, taking up the pettycash book, scanned its pages.

—­I could, faith, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling.  That was a rare bit of horseflesh.  Saint Frusquin was her sire.  She won in a thunderstorm, Rothschild’s filly, with wadding in her ears.  Blue jacket and yellow cap.  Bad luck to big Ben Dollard and his John O’Gaunt.  He put me off it.  Ay.

He drank resignedly from his tumbler, running his fingers down the flutes.

—­Ay, he said, sighing.

Mr Bloom, champing, standing, looked upon his sigh.  Nosey numbskull.  Will I tell him that horse Lenehan?  He knows already.  Better let him forget.  Go and lose more.  Fool and his money.  Dewdrop coming down again.  Cold nose he’d have kissing a woman.  Still they might like.  Prickly beards they like.  Dogs’ cold noses.  Old Mrs Riordan with the rumbling stomach’s Skye terrier in the City Arms hotel.  Molly fondling him in her lap.  O, the big doggybowwowsywowsy!

Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread mustard a moment mawkish cheese.  Nice wine it is.  Taste it better because I’m not thirsty.  Bath of course does that.  Just a bite or two.  Then about six o’clock I can.  Six.  Six.  Time will be gone then.  She ...

Mild fire of wine kindled his veins.  I wanted that badly.  Felt so off colour.  His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins:  sardines, gaudy lobsters’ claws.  All the odd things people pick up for food.  Out of shells, periwinkles with a pin, off trees, snails out of the ground the French eat, out of the sea with bait on a hook.  Silly fish learn nothing in a thousand years.  If you didn’t know risky putting anything into your mouth.  Poisonous berries.  Johnny Magories.  Roundness you think good.  Gaudy colour warns you off.  One fellow told another and so on.  Try it on the dog first.  Led on by the smell or the look.  Tempting fruit.  Ice cones.  Cream.  Instinct.  Orangegroves for instance.  Need artificial irrigation.  Bleibtreustrasse.  Yes but what about oysters.  Unsightly like a clot of phlegm.  Filthy shells.  Devil to open them too.  Who found them out?  Garbage, sewage they feed on.  Fizz and Red bank oysters.  Effect on the sexual.  Aphrodis.  He was in