ejecting the low soaker
without more ado, a design which would have been effected nor would
he have received more than his bare deserts had he not abridged his
transgression by affirming with a horrid imprecation (for he swore a
round hand) that he was as good a son of the true fold as ever drew
breath. Stap my vitals, said he, them was always the sentiments of
honest Frank Costello which I was bred up most particular to honour thy
father and thy mother that had the best hand to a rolypoly or a hasty
pudding as you ever see what I always looks back on with a loving heart.

To revert to Mr Bloom who, after his first entry, had been conscious of
some impudent mocks which he however had borne with as being the fruits
of that age upon which it is commonly charged that it knows not
pity. The young sparks, it is true, were as full of extravagancies
as overgrown children: the words of their tumultuary discussions
were difficultly understood and not often nice: their testiness and
outrageous _mots_ were such that his intellects resiled from: nor were
they scrupulously sensible of the proprieties though their fund of
strong animal spirits spoke in their behalf. But the word of Mr Costello
was an unwelcome language for him for he nauseated the wretch that
seemed to him a cropeared creature of a misshapen gibbosity, born out
of wedlock and thrust like a crookback toothed and feet first into the
world, which the dint of the surgeon's pliers in his skull lent indeed
a colour to, so as to put him in thought of that missing link of
creation's chain desiderated by the late ingenious Mr Darwin. It was now
for more than the middle span of our allotted years that he had passed
through the thousand vicissitudes of existence and, being of a wary
ascendancy and self a man of rare forecast, he had enjoined his heart
to repress all motions of a rising choler and, by intercepting them
with the readiest precaution, foster within his breast that plenitude
of sufferance which base minds jeer at, rash judgers scorn and all find
tolerable and but tolerable. To those who create themselves wits at the
cost of feminine delicacy (a habit of mind which he never did hold
with) to them he would concede neither to bear the name nor to herit
the tradition of a proper breeding: while for such that, having lost
all forbearance, can lose no more, there remained the sharp antidote of
experience to cause their insolency to beat a precipitate and inglorious
retrea