d, first gentleman said, beautiful weather.
They drank cool stout. Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going?
And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. No, she couldn't say. But it would
be in the paper. O, she need not trouble. No trouble. She waved about
her outspread _Independent,_ searching, the lord lieutenant, her
pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Too much trouble,
first gentleman said. O, not in the least. Way he looked that. Lord
lieutenant. Gold by bronze heard iron steel.

--............ _my ardent soul_
_I care not foror the morrow._

In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Love and War someone is.
Ben Dollard's famous. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit
for that concert. Trousers tight as a drum on him. Musical porkers.
Molly did laugh when he went out. Threw herself back across the bed,
screaming, kicking. With all his belongings on show. O saints above,
I'm drenched! O, the women in the front row! O, I never laughed so many!
Well, of course that's what gives him the base barreltone. For instance
eunuchs. Wonder who's playing. Nice touch. Must be Cowley. Musical.
Knows whatever note you play. Bad breath he has, poor chap. Stopped.

Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, George
Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Good afternoon. She gave her moist (a
lady's) hand to his firm clasp. Afternoon. Yes, she was back. To the old
dingdong again.

--Your friends are inside, Mr Lidwell.

George Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a lydiahand.

Bloom ate liv as said before. Clean here at least. That chap in the
Burton, gummy with gristle. No-one here: Goulding and I. Clean tables,
flowers, mitres of napkins. Pat to and fro. Bald Pat. Nothing to do.
Best value in Dub.

Piano again. Cowley it is. Way he sits in to it, like one together,
mutual understanding. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the
bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of toothache. Her high long snore.
Night we were in the box. Trombone under blowing like a grampus, between
the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Conductor's
legs too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Do right to hide them.

Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty.

Only the harp. Lovely. Gold glowering light. Girl touched it. Poop of a
lovely. Gravy's rather good fit for a. Golden ship. Erin. The harp that
once or twice. Cool hands. Ben Howth, the rhododendrons. We are their
harps. I. He. Old. Young.

--Ah, I couldn