Then all melted away dewily in the grey air:  all was silent.  Ah!  She glanced at him as she bent forward quickly, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of shy reproach under which he coloured like a girl He was leaning back against the rock behind.  Leopold Bloom (for it is he) stands silent, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes.  What a brute he had been!  At it again?  A fair unsullied soul had called to him and, wretch that he was, how had he answered?  An utter cad he had been!  He of all men!  But there was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, for him too a word of pardon even though he had erred and sinned and wandered.  Should a girl tell?  No, a thousand times no.  That was their secret, only theirs, alone in the hiding twilight and there was none to know or tell save the little bat that flew so softly through the evening to and fro and little bats don’t tell.

Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the football field to show what a great person she was:  and then she cried: 

—­Gerty!  Gerty!  We’re going.  Come on.  We can see from farther up.

Gerty had an idea, one of love’s little ruses.  She slipped a hand into her kerchief pocket and took out the wadding and waved in reply of course without letting him and then slipped it back.  Wonder if he’s too far to.  She rose.  Was it goodbye?  No.  She had to go but they would meet again, there, and she would dream of that till then, tomorrow, of her dream of yester eve.  She drew herself up to her full height.  Their souls met in a last lingering glance and the eyes that reached her heart, full of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her sweet flowerlike face.  She half smiled at him wanly, a sweet forgiving smile, a smile that verged on tears, and then they parted.

Slowly, without looking back she went down the uneven strand to Cissy, to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to little baby Boardman.  It was darker now and there were stones and bits of wood on the strand and slippy seaweed.  She walked with a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her but with care and very slowly because—­because Gerty MacDowell was ...

Tight boots?  No.  She’s lame!  O!

Mr Bloom watched her as she limped away.  Poor girl!  That’s why she’s left on the shelf and the others did a sprint.  Thought something was wrong by the cut of her jib.  Jilted beauty.  A defect is ten times worse in a woman.  But makes them polite.  Glad I didn’t know it when she was on show.  Hot little devil all the same.  I wouldn’t mind.  Curiosity like a nun or a negress or a girl with glasses.  That squinty one is delicate.  Near her monthlies, I expect, makes them feel ticklish.  I have such a bad headache today.  Where did I put the letter?  Yes, all right.  All kinds of crazy longings.  Licking pennies.  Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me liked to smell rock oil.  Virgins go mad in the end I suppose.  Sister?  How many women