what do you call it royal
Hungarian privileged lottery. True as you're there. O, commend me to an
israelite! Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery.

So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he
was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and
to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was
never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her.
Choking with bloody foolery. And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic
to tell her that. Shake hands, brother. You're a rogue and I'm another.

--Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however
slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded,
as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of
you this favour. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve
let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness.

--No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which
actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to
me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow,
this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of
the cup.

--Then suffer me to take your hand, said he. The goodness of your heart,
I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words
the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose
poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of
speech.

And off with him and out trying to walk straight. Boosed at five
o'clock. Night he was near being lagged only Paddy Leonard knew the
bobby, 14A. Blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after
closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking
porter out of teacups. And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls,
Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he serving
mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote
the new testament, and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. And
the two shawls killed with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody
fool and he spilling the porter all over the bed and the two shawls
screeching laughing at one another. _How is your testament? Have you got
an old testament?_ Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you what. Then
see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife, and she wagging
her tail up the aisle of the chape