ncredibly impossibly small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax model
Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb
toe, as worn in Paris.

THE HOOF: Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal weight.

BLOOM: _(Crosslacing)_ Too tight?

THE HOOF: If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you.

BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of the bazaar
dance. Bad luck. Hook in wrong tache of her... person you mentioned.
That night she met... Now!

_(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor. Bloom raises
his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow. His eyes grow
dull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens.)_

BLOOM: _(Mumbles)_ Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen,...

BELLO: _(With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice)_ Hound of
dishonour!

BLOOM: _(Infatuated)_ Empress!

BELLO: _(His heavy cheekchops sagging)_ Adorer of the adulterous rump!

BLOOM: _(Plaintively)_ Hugeness!

BELLO: Dungdevourer!

BLOOM: _(With sinews semiflexed)_ Magmagnificence!

BELLO: Down! _(He taps her on the shoulder with his fan)_ Incline feet
forward! Slide left foot one pace back! You will fall. You are falling.
On the hands down!

BLOOM: _(Her eyes upturned in the sign of admiration, closing, yaps)_
Truffles!

_(With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting,
snuffling, rooting at his feet: then lies, shamming dead, with eyes shut
tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of most
excellent master.)_

BELLO: _(With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his
shaven mouth, in mountaineer's puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sport
skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his hands stuck deep in
his breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in)_
Footstool! Feel my entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne of
your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.

BLOOM: _(Enthralled, bleats)_ I promise never to disobey.

BELLO: _(Laughs loudly)_ Holy smoke! You little know what's in store for
you. I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I'll bet
Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me,
I dare you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be
inflicted in gym costume.

_(Bloom creeps under the sofa and peers out through the fringe.)_

ZOE: _(Widening her slip to screen her)_ She's