he wasn't far wide of the mark.

Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter.

--I'm weak, he gasped.

M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave. Lenehan
walked on again. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead
rapidly. He glanced sideways in the sunlight at M'Coy.

--He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said seriously. He's not one
of your common or garden... you know... There's a touch of the artist
about old Bloom.

* * * * *

Mr Bloom turned over idly pages of _The Awful Disclosures of Maria
Monk,_ then of Aristotle's _Masterpiece._ Crooked botched print. Plates:
infants cuddled in a ball in bloodred wombs like livers of slaughtered
cows. Lots of them like that at this moment all over the world. All
butting with their skulls to get out of it. Child born every minute
somewhere. Mrs Purefoy.

He laid both books aside and glanced at the third: _Tales of the Ghetto_
by Leopold von Sacher Masoch.

--That I had, he said, pushing it by.

The shopman let two volumes fall on the counter.

--Them are two good ones, he said.

Onions of his breath came across the counter out of his ruined mouth.
He bent to make a bundle of the other books, hugged them against his
unbuttoned waistcoat and bore them off behind the dingy curtain.

On O'Connell bridge many persons observed the grave deportment and gay
apparel of Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing &c.

Mr Bloom, alone, looked at the titles. _Fair Tyrants_ by James
Lovebirch. Know the kind that is. Had it? Yes.

He opened it. Thought so.

A woman's voice behind the dingy curtain. Listen: the man.

No: she wouldn't like that much. Got her it once.

He read the other title: _Sweets of Sin_. More in her line. Let us see.

He read where his finger opened.

_--All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the stores on
wondrous gowns and costliest frillies. For him! For raoul!_

Yes. This. Here. Try.

--_Her mouth glued on his in a luscious voluptuous kiss while his hands
felt for the opulent curves inside her deshabille._

Yes. Take this. The end.

--_You are late, he spoke hoarsely, eying her with a suspicious glare.
The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying her
queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint. An imperceptible smile played
round her perfect lips as she turned to him calmly._

Mr Bloom read again: _The beautiful woman._

Warmth showered gently o