_(Milly Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, her blue scarf
in the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the arms of her lover and
calls, her young eyes wonderwide.)_

MILLY: My! It's Papli! But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

BELLO: Changed, eh? Our whatnot, our writingtable where we never wrote,
aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. A man and
his menfriends are living there in clover. The _Cuckoos' Rest!_ Why not?
How many women had you, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot,
exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you male prostitute?
Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. Turn about. Sauce for the
goose, my gander O.

BLOOM: They... I...

BELLO: _(Cuttingly)_ Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpet
you bought at Wren's auction. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to
find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue
you carried home in the rain for art for art' sake. They will violate
the secrets of your bottom drawer. Pages will be torn from your handbook
of astronomy to make them pipespills. And they will spit in your ten
shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.

BLOOM: Ten and six. The act of low scoundrels. Let me go. I will return.
I will prove...

A VOICE: Swear!

_(Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, a bowieknife between his
teeth.)_

BELLO: As a paying guest or a kept man? Too late. You have made your
secondbest bed and others must lie in it. Your epitaph is written. You
are down and out and don't you forget it, old bean.

BLOOM: Justice! All Ireland versus one! Has nobody...? _(He bites his
thumb)_

BELLO: Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency
or grace about you. I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you
skipping to hell and back. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have!
If you have none see you damn well get it, steal it, rob it! We'll bury
you in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck
Cohen, my stepnephew I married, the bloody old gouty procurator and
sodomite with a crick in his neck, and my other ten or eleven husbands,
whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the one cesspool. _(He
explodes in a loud phlegmy laugh)_ We'll manure you, Mr Flower! _(He
pipes scoffingly)_ Byby, Poldy! Byby, Papli!

BLOOM: _(Clasps his head)_ My willpower! Memory! I have sinned! I have
suff...

_(He weeps tearlessly)_

BELLO: _(Sneers)_ Crybabby! Croc