She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea.  They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their teas to draw.  They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two and seven.

Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofs ring from afar, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel.

—­Am I awfully sunburnt?

Miss bronze unbloused her neck.

—­No, said miss Kennedy.  It gets brown after.  Did you try the borax with the cherry laurel water?

Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their midst a shell.

—­And leave it to my hands, she said.

—­Try it with the glycerine, miss Kennedy advised.

Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce

—­Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated.  I asked that old fogey in Boyd’s for something for my skin.

Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed: 

—­O, don’t remind me of him for mercy’ sake!

—­But wait till I tell you, miss Douce entreated.

Sweet tea miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers.

—­No, don’t, she cried.

—­I won’t listen, she cried.

But Bloom?

Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey’s tone: 

—­For your what? says he.

Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak:  but said, but prayed again: 

—­Don’t let me think of him or I’ll expire.  The hideous old wretch!  That night in the Antient Concert Rooms.

She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a sip, sipped, sweet tea.

—­Here he was, miss Douce said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings.  Hufa!  Hufa!

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy’s throat.  Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a snout in quest.

—­O! shrieking, miss Kennedy cried.  Will you ever forget his goggle eye?

Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, shouting: 

—­And your other eye!

Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner’s name.  Why do I always think Figather?  Gathering figs, I think.  And Prosper Lore’s huguenot name.  By Bassi’s blessed virgins Bloom’s dark eyes went by.  Bluerobed, white under, come to me.  God they believe she is:  or goddess.  Those today.  I could not see.  That fellow spoke.  A student.  After with Dedalus’ son.  He might be Mulligan.  All comely virgins.  That brings those rakes of fellows in:  her white.

By went his eyes.  The sweets of sin.  Sweet are the sweets.

Of sin.

In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye.  They threw young heads back, bronze gigglegold, to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other, signals to each other, high piercing notes.