ever, they say.  Ugly:  no woman thinks she is.  Love, lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die.  See him sometimes walking about trying to find out who played the trick.  U. p:  up.  Fate that is.  He, not me.  Also a shop often noticed.  Curse seems to dog it.  Dreamt last night?  Wait.  Something confused.  She had red slippers on.  Turkish.  Wore the breeches.  Suppose she does?  Would I like her in pyjamas?  Damned hard to answer.  Nannetti’s gone.  Mailboat.  Near Holyhead by now.  Must nail that ad of Keyes’s.  Work Hynes and Crawford.  Petticoats for Molly.  She has something to put in them.  What’s that?  Might be money.

Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the strand.  He brought it near his eyes and peered.  Letter?  No.  Can’t read.  Better go.  Better.  I’m tired to move.  Page of an old copybook.  All those holes and pebbles.  Who could count them?  Never know what you find.  Bottle with story of a treasure in it, thrown from a wreck.  Parcels post.  Children always want to throw things in the sea.  Trust?  Bread cast on the waters.  What’s this?  Bit of stick.

O!  Exhausted that female has me.  Not so young now.  Will she come here tomorrow?  Wait for her somewhere for ever.  Must come back.  Murderers do.  Will I?

Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot.  Write a message for her.  Might remain.  What?

I.

Some flatfoot tramp on it in the morning.  Useless.  Washed away.  Tide comes here.  Saw a pool near her foot.  Bend, see my face there, dark mirror, breathe on it, stirs.  All these rocks with lines and scars and letters.  O, those transparent!  Besides they don’t know.  What is the meaning of that other world.  I called you naughty boy because I do not like.

Am.  A.

No room.  Let it go.

Mr Bloom effaced the letters with his slow boot.  Hopeless thing sand.  Nothing grows in it.  All fades.  No fear of big vessels coming up here.  Except Guinness’s barges.  Round the Kish in eighty days.  Done half by design.

He flung his wooden pen away.  The stick fell in silted sand, stuck.  Now if you were trying to do that for a week on end you couldn’t.  Chance.  We’ll never meet again.  But it was lovely.  Goodbye, dear.  Thanks.  Made me feel so young.

Short snooze now if I had.  Must be near nine.  Liverpool boat long gone..  Not even the smoke.  And she can do the other.  Did too.  And Belfast.  I won’t go.  Race there, race back to Ennis.  Let him.  Just close my eyes a moment.  Won’t sleep, though.  Half dream.  It never comes the same.  Bat again.  No harm in him.  Just a few.

O sweety all your little girlwhite up I saw dirty bracegirdle made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past the bed met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife black hair heave under embon senorita young eyes Mulvey plump bubs me breadvan Winkle red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next year in drawers return next in her next her next.