ided to her tankards waiting. No,
she was not so lonely archly miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell know.
Walks in the moonlight by the sea. No, not alone. With whom? She nobly
answered: with a gentleman friend.

Bob Cowley's twinkling fingers in the treble played again. The landlord
has the prior. A little time. Long John. Big Ben. Lightly he played a
light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling,
and for their gallants, gentlemen friends. One: one, one, one, one, one:
two, one, three, four.

Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the cattlemarket,
cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. There's music everywhere.
Ruttledge's door: ee creaking. No, that's noise. Minuet of _Don
Giovanni_ he's playing now. Court dresses of all descriptions in castle
chambers dancing. Misery. Peasants outside. Green starving faces eating
dockleaves. Nice that is. Look: look, look, look, look, look: you look
at us.

That's joyful I can feel. Never have written it. Why? My joy is other
joy. But both are joys. Yes, joy it must be. Mere fact of music shows
you are. Often thought she was in the dumps till she began to lilt. Then
know.

M'Coy valise. My wife and your wife. Squealing cat. Like tearing silk.
Tongue when she talks like the clapper of a bellows. They can't manage
men's intervals. Gap in their voices too. Fill me. I'm warm, dark, open.
Molly in _quis est homo_: Mercadante. My ear against the wall to hear.
Want a woman who can deliver the goods.

Jog jig jogged stopped. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue
clocks came light to earth.

O, look we are so! Chamber music. Could make a kind of pun on that.
It is a kind of music I often thought when she. Acoustics that is.
Tinkling. Empty vessels make most noise. Because the acoustics, the
resonance changes according as the weight of the water is equal to
the law of falling water. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian,
gipsyeyed. Pearls. Drops. Rain. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle.
Hissss. Now. Maybe now. Before.

One rapped on a door, one tapped with a knock, did he knock Paul de Kock
with a loud proud knocker with a cock carracarracarra cock. Cockcock.

Tap.

--_Qui sdegno,_ Ben, said Father Cowley.

--No, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered. _The Croppy Boy._ Our native Doric.

--Ay do, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Good men and true.

--Do, do, they begged in one.

I'll go. Here, Pat, return. Come. He came, he came, he did not stay. To
me.