However reverting to friend Sinbad and his horrifying adventures (who reminded him a bit of Ludwig, alias Ledwidge, when he occupied the boards of the Gaiety when Michael Gunn was identified with the management in the flying Dutchman, a stupendous success, and his host of admirers came in large numbers, everyone simply flocking to hear him though ships of any sort, phantom or the reverse, on the stage usually fell a bit flat as also did trains) there was nothing intrinsically incompatible about it, he conceded.  On the contrary that stab in the back touch was quite in keeping with those italianos though candidly he was none the less free to admit those icecreamers and friers in the fish way not to mention the chip potato variety and so forth over in little Italy there near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit too given to pothunting the harmless necessary animal of the feline persuasion of others at night so as to have a good old succulent tuckin with garlic de RIGUEUR off him or her next day on the quiet and, he added, on the cheap.

—­Spaniards, for instance, he continued, passionate temperaments like that, impetuous as Old Nick, are given to taking the law into their own hands and give you your quietus doublequick with those poignards they carry in the abdomen.  It comes from the great heat, climate generally.  My wife is, so to speak, Spanish, half that is.  Point of fact she could actually claim Spanish nationality if she wanted, having been born in (technically) Spain, i.e.  Gibraltar.  She has the Spanish type.  Quite dark, regular brunette, black.  I for one certainly believe climate accounts for character.  That’s why I asked you if you wrote your poetry in Italian.

—­The temperaments at the door, Stephen interposed with, were very passionate about ten shillings.  Roberto RUBA Roba SUA.

—­Quite so, Mr Bloom dittoed.

—­Then, Stephen said staring and rambling on to himself or some unknown listener somewhere, we have the impetuosity of Dante and the isosceles triangle miss Portinari he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino.

—­It’s in the blood, Mr Bloom acceded at once.  All are washed in the blood of the sun.  Coincidence I just happened to be in the Kildare street museum today, shortly prior to our meeting if I can so call it, and I was just looking at those antique statues there.  The splendid proportions of hips, bosom.  You simply don’t knock against those kind of women here.  An exception here and there.  Handsome yes, pretty in a way you find but what I’m talking about is the female form.  Besides they have so little taste in dress, most of them, which greatly enhances a woman’s natural beauty, no matter what you say.  Rumpled stockings, it may be, possibly is, a foible of mine but still it’s a thing I simply hate to see.