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 rich gentleman coming with a private yacht.  BUENAS NOCHES, senorita.  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 Leah, 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 Keyes, 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 company.  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 come 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 porkpie 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