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Delaney:   Useen:  [*]
She swallowed a draught of tea from her cup held by nothandle and, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the blanket, began to search the text with the hairpin till she reached the word.
(is Molly's world empty of color-words?)
"smartly" speaks volumes
— Met him what? he asked.
— Here, she said. What does that mean?
He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail.
— Yes. Who's he when he's at home?
— Metempsychosis, he said, frowning. It's Greek: from the Greek. That means the transmigration of souls.
— O, rocks! she said. Tell us in plain words.
Delaney: He smiled, glancing askance at her mocking eyes. The same young eyes. The first night after the charades. Dolphin's Barn. He turned over the smudged pages. Ruby: the Pride of the Ring.
Hello. Illustration. Fierce Italian with carriagewhip. Must be Ruby pride of the on the floor naked. Sheet kindly lent. The monster Maffei desisted and flung his victim from him with an oath.
Cruelty behind it all. Doped animals. Trapeze at Hengler's. Had to look the other way. Mob gaping. Break your neck and we'll break our sides.
(G&S thinks Bloom saw an accident, but we can rule that out because he never mentions a victim)
Families of them. Bone them young so they metamspychosis. That we live after death. Our souls. That a man's soul after he dies, Dignam's soul...
Delaney: — Did you finish it? he asked.
— Yes, she said. There's nothing smutty in it. Is she in love with the first fellow all the time?
— Never read it. Do you want another?
(did Nora similarly imagine James had read everything?)
— Yes. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Nice name he has.
She poured more tea into her cup, watching its flow sideways.
Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to Kearney, my guarantor. Reincarnation: that's the word.
— Some people believe, he said, that we go on living in another body after death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. That we all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or some other planet. They say we have forgotten it. Some say they remember their past lives.
The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. Better remind her of the word: metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example?
The Bath of the Nymph over the bed. Given away with the Easter number
cf p15: "Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the thick rich milk."
|cf "September Morn"?|
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