together, rests against her left eardrop)_ Have you
forgotten me?

BLOOM: Yes. Yo.

THE FAN: _(Folded akimbo against her waist)_ Is me her was you dreamed
before? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now
we?

_(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan.)_

BLOOM: _(Wincing)_ Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber which
women love.

THE FAN: _(Tapping)_ We have met. You are mine. It is fate.

BLOOM: _(Cowed)_ Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your
domination. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. I stand, so to
speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before
the too late box of the general postoffice of human life. The door
and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per
second according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt this instant
a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. It runs in our family.
Poor dear papa, a widower, was a regular barometer from it. He believed
in animal heat. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the
end, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with
Athos, faithful after death. A dog's spittle as you probably... _(He
winces)_ Ah!

RICHIE GOULDING: _(Bagweighted, passes the door)_ Mocking is catch. Best
value in Dub. Fit for a prince's. Liver and kidney.

THE FAN: _(Tapping)_ All things end. Be mine. Now.

BLOOM: _(Undecided)_ All now? I should not have parted with my talisman.
Rain, exposure at dewfall on the searocks, a peccadillo at my time of
life. Every phenomenon has a natural cause.

THE FAN: _(Points downwards slowly)_ You may.

BLOOM: _(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace)_ We are
observed.

THE FAN: _(Points downwards quickly)_ You must.

BLOOM: _(With desire, with reluctance)_ I can make a true black knot.
Learned when I served my time and worked the mail order line for
Kellett's. Experienced hand. Every knot says a lot. Let me. In courtesy.
I knelt once before today. Ah!

_(Bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to the
edge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern, silksocked.
Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her hoof and with gentle fingers
draws out and in her laces.)_

BLOOM: _(Murmurs lovingly)_ To be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my
love's young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace
up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so
i