. Strange name. Takes it for granted we're going to
pop off first. That widow on Monday was it outside Cramer's that
looked at me. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on
the premium. Her widow's mite. Well? What do you expect her to do? Must
wheedle her way along. Widower I hate to see. Looks so forlorn. Poor man
O'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. The sewage.
Hopeless. Some good matronly woman in a porkpie hat to mother him. Take
him in tow, platter face and a large apron. Ladies' grey flannelette
bloomers, three shillings a pair, astonishing bargain. Plain and loved,
loved for ever, they say. Ugly: no woman thinks she is. Love, lie and be
handsome for tomorrow we die. See him sometimes walking about trying to
find out who played the trick. U. p: up. Fate that is. He, not me. Also
a shop often noticed. Curse seems to dog it. Dreamt last night? Wait.
Something confused. She had red slippers on. Turkish. Wore the breeches.
Suppose she does? Would I like her in pyjamas? Damned hard to answer.
Nannetti's gone. Mailboat. Near Holyhead by now. Must nail that ad
of Keyes's. Work Hynes and Crawford. Petticoats for Molly. She has
something to put in them. What's that? Might be money.

Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the strand. He
brought it near his eyes and peered. Letter? No. Can't read. Better go.
Better. I'm tired to move. Page of an old copybook. All those holes and
pebbles. Who could count them? Never know what you find. Bottle with
story of a treasure in it, thrown from a wreck. Parcels post. Children
always want to throw things in the sea. Trust? Bread cast on the waters.
What's this? Bit of stick.

O! Exhausted that female has me. Not so young now. Will she come here
tomorrow? Wait for her somewhere for ever. Must come back. Murderers do.
Will I?

Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot. Write a
message for her. Might remain. What?

I.

Some flatfoot tramp on it in the morning. Useless. Washed away. Tide
comes here. Saw a pool near her foot. Bend, see my face there, dark
mirror, breathe on it, stirs. All these rocks with lines and scars and
letters. O, those transparent! Besides they don't know. What is the
meaning of that other world. I called you naughty boy because I do not
like.

AM. A.

No room. Let it go.

Mr Bloom effaced the letters with his slow boot. Hopeless thing sand.
Nothing grows in it. All fades. No fear of big