eing
them, frowns, then smiles, preoccupied. A door on the return landing is
flung open. A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, brownsocked, passes
with an ape's gait, his bald head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a
full waterjugjar, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. Averting
his face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the halltable the spaniel
eyes of a running fox: then, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe
into the musicroom. A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the
chandelier. Round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. The
floor is covered with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar
rhomboids. Footmarks are stamped over it in all senses, heel to heel,
heel to hollow, toe to toe, feet locked, a morris of shuffling feet
without body phantoms, all in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. The walls
are tapestried with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. In the grate
is spread a screen of peacock feathers. Lynch squats crosslegged on
the hearthrug of matted hair, his cap back to the front. With a wand he
beats time slowly. Kitty Ricketts, a bony pallid whore in navy costume,
doeskin gloves rolled back from a coral wristlet, a chain purse in
her hand, sits perched on the edge of the table swinging her leg and
glancing at herself in the gilt mirror over the mantelpiece. A tag
of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket. Lynch indicates
mockingly the couple at the piano.)_

KITTY: _(Coughs behind her hand)_ She's a bit imbecillic. _(She signs
with a waggling forefinger)_ Blemblem. _(Lynch lifts up her skirt and
white petticoat with his wand she settles them down quickly.)_ Respect
yourself. _(She hiccups, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which
her hair glows, red with henna)_ O, excuse!

ZOE: More limelight, Charley. _(She goes to the chandelier and turns the
gas full cock)_

KITTY: _(Peers at the gasjet)_ What ails it tonight?

LYNCH: _(Deeply)_ Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

ZOE: Clap on the back for Zoe.

_(The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a brass poker. Stephen stands at
the pianola on which sprawl his hat and ashplant. With two fingers he
repeats once more the series of empty fifths. Florry Talbot, a blond
feeble goosefat whore in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry,
lolls spreadeagle in the sofacorner, her limp forearm pendent over the
bolster, listening. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid.)_

KITTY: _(Hiccups again with a kick of her horsed